Poppy in the Sandstorm
by Cattarang
Summary: Ylsa Payne comes from a life of miserable austerity in the Westerlands, and now that her father's new wife has given him a son, she finds herself married off to Prince Doran Martell, despite being many years his junior. Faced with this inescapable situation, she must make the best of her betrothed and her new home in Dorne. Rating may change in the future. OC x Doran Martell
1. Prologue

Hands once soft and voice once loud, Ylsa Payne stood by the hearth that kept her barren room warm. Those hands were now worn rough from tending to her step-mother, the tips burnt and pink from having to handle the coals that she was constantly ferrying to and from that woman's bed to keep the foot of it warm. That voice was now all but silent, hardly speaking outside the occasional 'yes ma'am' or 'no ma'am.' Her face was round yet with youth, but her eyes were dull now. Now that her step-mother had given birth, the announcement had found it's way to Ylsa's ears; it was a boy. A son.

Her healing hands gathered up her skirts to sit down on the floor before the hearth, drawing her knees up close to her chest, her feet tucked under the dull sea green fabric. The threat she now faced had been hanging in the air since the announcement of that woman's pregnancy, and it was only a matter of time until her father approached her to begin the arrangements. At the time, it had seemed like an impossibility to the naïve girl; her father was such a reasonable man. Strict, yes, stern, of course, but reasonable. He'd assured her that regardless of the new baby's sex, his eldest true-born daughter should inherit from him his wealth, his castle, even his name. Theirs was not a prominent branch of the Payne family, but a branch it was, and Ylsa would have been more than happy to carry on her family's sigil and words.

Her stepmother was not as reasonable. Of course that woman would want her own child to inherit over the child of her husbands deceased wife. And now that it was a boy, the woman's words rang in Ylsa's ears louder than ever; 'You'll be round with your own husband's child before mine sits up on his own.' And after dinner that evening, her father had confirmed it.

"It's an offer I can't refuse," he'd said, waving away one of the servant girls as she tried to refill his goblet. "To secure such a lofty position for one of my offspring is a far better promise for your future than to inherit our measly plot of land. And besides, at 18 I don't think I'd be able to marry you off to any lord in the Westerlands anyway, you are far too old for your own good, my dear!" Ylsa had set her knife and fork down as soon as he'd started speaking, it had been just the two of them at dinner, since his new wife had been at labor all afternoon, and had been resting by the time dinner was served. By then, both father and daughter had heard the news of the birth of Fabian Payne. "And now that your mother has borne a son, you need not worry about continuing the family name, as that is assured through him."

Ylsa hated when he called that woman her mother.

"I've never been to Dorne," was all she'd said, unable to formulate anything else. Her mouth felt dry, no matter how much water she drank.

"I wonder if any Payne ever has," her father had replied, taking her lack of sudden protest as her acceptance. Beside his goblet lay the open scroll that bore the signature of Doran Martell, the Prince of Dorne. Ylsa just stared at it, unable to read the words from her distance. The seal that lay broken, which bore the sigil of house Martell, was flaking off the paper, likely days had passed since it had first been broken. She wondered how long ago her father had arranged this, and was only now telling her.

"You'll be leaving for Dorne as soon as possible," he had continued, resuming his meal as if this were only pleasant dinner conversation. "You'll be leaving in one of my best ships, as a present to your new husband."

"…I'm sure the Prince Trystane has many ships already." The words popped out of her mouth before she could stop them; Ylsa had been a cheeky child growing up under the tutelage of her equally cheeky mother, but in the days since Ellana Payne's passing, her tongue had grown quiet, especially under the cruel stewardesship of her father's new wife. Her quiet, sarcastic barb caused her father pause, but not for the tone in which it was delivered.

"Ah, Prince Trystane is not your betrothed," he said slowly, eyeing his daughter carefully. "I'm sorry, I was sure I'd mentioned…." He trailed off a bit, taking his napkin and dabbing at his mouth. "Ahem. Prince Trystane is betrothed to Princess Myrcella of House Lannister. My initial inquiry was of course for his betrothal, but upon learning of his current arrangements, Prince Doran was kind enough to offer an alternative."

Ylsa's stomach had dropped to her shoes then, as she dreaded what her father was to say next.

"…You are to be married to Prince Doran. Truly, a much loftier position; you shall be Princess Ylsa Martell, of Dorne."

Those words rang in her ears painfully as she sat alone, shivering even though the fire beside her crackled and snapped at the log that fed it. Hot tears dripped from her pale blue eyes as she stared into the flames, praying silently to the Seven to reverse her misfortune.

She didn't want to leave her family, however broken and unhappy it was. She didn't want to go to Dorne. She didn't want to marry an old man like Prince Doran. But no matter what she could say, what argument she could make, there would be nothing to change her situation; as the eldest daughter, she was expected to marry as her father bid. And her father bid it.

Most of her belongings had already been packed in trunks and carried out to the harbor before she could have even made it back to her chambers after such an unfortunate dinner. All that was left was her bed, and a small drunk with the last few possessions she kept hidden under her mattress; she supposed the servants who had disassembled her room had found them, and had the kindness not to pack them away just yet. Rising to her feet, she moved over to the trunk, sifting through it's contents. Inside was a mass of golden material; the dress her mother had worn on her wedding day to her father, nearly two decades ago. Underneath lay several pieces of jewelry her mother had left for Ylsa, passed down through her maternal line for generations. And at the bottom lay a small collection of papers.

Taking a few of these papers out and setting them in her lap, Ylsa spent the dwindling candle light reading through them; they were letters. In Ylsa's early childhood, her mother had taken a trip to visit her sister in the Riverlands when she had first given birth to her first child, Ylsa's eldest cousin. Ylsa had written letters back and forth with her mother for the entire trip, and her mother had kept each and every letter she'd received, and now Ylsa had them here. A small smile broke her miserable visage as she read through them all, using her sleeve to wipe at her eyes to dry them. Her mother had been 16 when she'd married her father. Younger than Ylsa was now.

She was woken early the next morning, her back and neck stiff, as she'd fallen asleep slumped against the top of the trunk holding her mother's heirlooms. Just as her father promised, she was to be shipped off immediately, though the servant that woke her asked if she'd first like to pay a visit to her step-mother and half-brother before she left. Ylsa tucked her papers carefully back into her trunk, allowing another servant to lock it, before answering.

"No. I'm ready to go."


	2. Chapter One - Abysmal Arrival

Bird song floated along the warm breeze that carried the scent of salt and sand up from the beaches below the palace. The sun, usually so cruel in the warm summer years was merciful this day, allowing a smattering of small, hopeful clouds to block its harsh rays from heating the bricks and fine marble to unbearable temperatures. Still, even in the Winter, Dorne remained warm, especially along the coast as they were, and as Doran dressed, he remembered an errant thought he'd had in his youth, when he and his siblings would play among fountains in the Water Garden. He chuckled at the memory, of his innocent inquiry as to why women were so lucky as to wear the light feathery dresses that were so common in the hot climate, and men were not typically seen in any less than three layers, especially not men of the court. He remembered how it had spurred his younger brother Oberyn to don one of Elia's dresses, and how amused their father had found the spectacle. Still more amusing was the fact that this lighthearted memory was only possible in a country such as Dorne. Surely, Fathers of the Northern regions would never have chuckled so easily if their small son had worn a dress, even in jest as it was.

Doran's mind was, in truth, very often on the other 6 regions of Westeros. While Dorne enjoyed the relative seclusion and self-governance their history and geography allowed them, it was his job as the Prince, after all, to keep his mind sharp with the goings on of the Northern countries. But as of recent, his thoughts were with the Northerners even more frequently than before. It had begun with the betrothal of his son Trystane to the Princess Myrcella, who had only recently landed in Sunspear, and was just settling down with her attendants and chaperones in the great sandstone palace. She was a sliver of a girl, barely 14 and as slight and prone to trembling as a newborn deer, but quiet and gracious; it was a wonder she was borne from the Lannister and Baratheon lines at all. Doran was happy to have her, despite her lineage, as her temperament and traits seemed to lend themselves more to civility and politeness rather than the scheming and cunning he had assumed she'd take from her Mother, and in due time, if she remained as sweet as she appeared, she'd make an acceptable match for his son Trystane, hardly 15 years old himself.

But now that the Princess was settled, the court at Sunspear was expecting another guest to arrive any day now, this time hailing from the Westerlands, and Doran was overseeing preparations all over again. Standing at the mirror over his bureau, the Prince slipped several silver and golden rings onto his fingers, the most prominent of which was a large golden serpent ring, that held a garnet within its jaws, lost in thought as he was so wont to be as of late.

Ylsa Payne. What a name. In Dorne, names carried such lesser weight than they did in the rest of Westeros, but there was still something to it. Payne was not a Noble House. Payne was a Vassal House to the Lannisters. Doran knew there were many, even in Dorne, who would not endorse such a pairing, of a Vassal girl to the Prince, and yet here they were. When he'd received word of the Lord of the girl's house searching for a suitable match in Dorne, Doran has thought nothing much of it. Sure, it was strange for a family from the Westerlands to seek engagement to a Dornish House, seeing as the cultures were…not the most compatible.

Her father's request was first declined by House Santagar; as was expected, Lord Santagar was known very famously for his abundance of daughters, all of whom, as far as Doran knew, had taken up arms in his standing army. House Uller rejected the request next, as their youngest son and only eligible bachelor was still in mourning for the passing of his first wife, and the immediate betrothal to another would have been most inappropriate. House Yronwood refused outright, despite Jayl Yronwood's eligibility and similar age to the Payne girl. But then again, House Yronwood was a rather proud House; Doran knew that if he'd had a daughter, the Yronwood's would have stopped at nothing to wed their son to her. And that was when the Prince had received a raven, inquiring of Prince Trystane's eligibility.

Setting himself in his chair, Doran's thoughts on the matter paused for a moment, as he allowed himself to be wheeled from his quarters. Gout…what a ridiculous ailment to suffer from to this extent. He sighed, eliciting a chuckle from his Captain of the guard, Areo.

He'd seen to it that the girl's quarters were prepared, that her reception was planned out, guards hand selected and handmaidens ready to help her adjust to what would likely be quite the culture shock. Doran knew that however different it was between Dornishmen and the rest of Westeros, it would be much more of a shock for a woman hailing from the austere regions of the West. He'd been meticulous in the planning; she was, after all, his future wife.

Oh, how he'd been advised against such a move. Why was he, the Prince, stooping 'so low' as to accept the betrothal to the daughter of a Vassal House? Especially considering he'd already produced an heir, who was soon to take the throne from him? And after so many rejections…he had to admit, even he couldn't quite explain it. But…. perhaps it was something akin to pity? In the heart of every man and woman, there stirs a small twinge of guilt should they leave the baby bird whom fell from their nest at the foot of the tree to perish. Receiving such a raven from Lord Payne had stirred this feeling in Doran. What a miserable situation, he'd thought, for the scroll had left no detail hidden. The impending birth of a more eligible heir to the girl's House was a sad event for such a woman.

And, in truth…Doran couldn't help but smile as he was greeted by his brother and Ellaria, Oberyn's paramour as he was helped to his seat in one of the cushioned chairs that rung the low-sitting table on which breakfast had been laid. Across from him sat his son, whom none too shyly was deep in conversation with his bashful intended. The golden-haired girl, whose attention was only diverted briefly from Trystane by the arrival of Prince Doran, was such a pleasure to host in his palace, that, when the man had received a raven inquiring to his son's availability for marriage, he hadn't immediately shot Lord Payne down. Perhaps housing his own intended would likewise brighten the Prince's life that much more? Lord knew how he'd spent so many years alone.

* * *

"Lady Payne…" The plump redheaded woman held the cool, damp cloth to Ylsa's forehead as the young woman lay sweating in her cabin. The rock of the ship did not agree with her, and the only solace the poor girl could take from the situation was that it was quickly drawing to a close; they'd been at sea for weeks, sailing from Lannisport to what was supposed to be Salt Shore. The plan had been to land at the Southern Dornish port and finish the rest of Ylsa's journey to Sunspear on horseback, but when the weather and tides had not permitted the ship to port successfully, it had been determined that it would save both time and effort to sail Lady Payne directly to the port at Sunspear. A decision Lady Payne herself had not been parlay to, and would have vehemently protested if she'd been included in the decision making. But here they were, approaching the port, finally. The spires of the palace at Sunspear could just be seen over the watery horizon, though Ylsa herself did not go on deck to see them, she was feeling much too ill.

"We're to get ready," her gingered handmaiden, a woman twice her age, urged, attempting to take her by her clammy hand and raise her to her feet to begin dressing and brushing her, though Ylsa felt if she sat up, she would surely be sick again. She grudgingly did as she was told though, having to close her eyes to try and keep herself from feeling nauseous, though it did little to help. It didn't help the situation that the corset she was laced into only aided in raising her body temperature, and seeing as her cabin was already muggy with her over overheated breath and sweat, she honestly feared that she might faint. How could someplace be this warm!? Was all of Dorne this hot, or just the ships out at sea, due to the reflection of the sun on the water? She sincerely hoped that once she stepped on dry land again, there would be some merciful shade for her to collapse in.

While her face was powdered, Ylsa wondered what the point of this was; not only was she surely to sweat any powder off in this heat, but what was the point of attempting to make her appear paler than she already was? She tried to protest, but found if she opened her mouth at all, all she could do was moan from the nausea. So she had to let whatever her handmaiden deemed fit to see the Prince in be done to her. And when she was finally fully dressed in her best gown, her hair let down in her natural brunette waves by her shoulders, she was led up to the deck, to await the crew bringing the ship to a halt in the fast-approaching harbor, so she could be rowed to port.

"Careful M'Lady," her handmaiden spoke softly as Ylsa stepped into the smaller boat, accompanied by a few more ladies in waiting, and her guard. They were lowered to the water, and to her great displeasure, she found the ride from the ship to the docks even more choppy and uneven on the water than before, and even just peering over the edge of the boat into the water threatened to churn her stomach horribly. Her head began to spin, even as the boat was tied off at the dock, and a hand was held out to her to take, pulling her up, finally, onto stable ground.

The fanfare for Ylsa's arrival was….more subdued than it had been for Princess Myrcella. That was to be expected of course; Myrcella's arrival had signaled the alliance between two great houses via their heirs. Ylsa's arrival signaled no such weighty alliances, though there was something to be said for the appeal to the citizens of Sunspear to see their beloved Prince Doran wed once again after the departure of his previous wife. The dock was protected by the Dornish guard, the Captain of which, who held beside him a grand bladed spear, stood beside the Prince himself. The Prince's brother and his paramour were conspicuously absent, as were Prince Oberyn's daughters, though Trystane and Myrcella were present. Behind the royal procession was a small crowd of palace guards and staff, though, this was all lost on poor Ylsa, as her eyes happened to be glossed over as another wave of intense nausea hit her. As soon as her feet hit solid ground, she would have thought she'd be cured of her sea sickness, but she hardly had time to even glance at her intended, as the illness and the heat finally got to her. Collapsing at the edge of the dock, she was regrettably sick over the edge into the water, tears mercifully cooling her overheated cheeks as they streaked from her eyes.

"Oh dear!" There was a flurry of twittering as her handmaidens flocked to her side, attempting to help her to her feet, but there was no helping the situation. She found herself exhausted, dizzy, too hot and far to humiliated to stand on her own. She couldn't even look up to see the reaction of the Prince to her terrible introduction.

But Prince Doran merely pressed his lips together in a thin line; not from frustration, but to keep himself from chuckling at the episode. The poor girl; sailing since Lannisport, he wondered if she'd ever been aboard a ship that long before, or if ever in her life! And just look at her, who dressed her in the stuffy gowns of the North, knowing they would land here in Sunspear, where even during the Winter the sun beat down on its citizens relentlessly? He certainly wasn't going to blame her or hold this against her, and in fact nodded slightly to Areo, who called for several of the Dornish guard to help Lady Payne to her feet, and up into the palace.

"See to it that Lady Payne is nursed back to health away from the sun, I suspect she's never had to deal with the heat and the rocking of a ship quite like this before." He smiled kindly to the girl as she was led past him, but he doubted she'd even seen him, as she refused to look at him, out of humiliation. Her long hair hung like a curtain across her cheek, shielding her eyes from the murmurs of those assembled around her, but as Doran signaled for the procession to follow her up to the Palace, those murmurs were hushed.

"So this is going to be your wife?" Areo asked, goodnaturedly with a tinge of amusement in his rich, deep, baritone voice. Doran shrugged slightly as he was wheeled back up the hill, glancing over at his Captain and longtime friend.

"We shall see."


	3. Chapter Two - A Serpent's Warning

"I can't wear this." Ylsa sat wrapped in the gossamer sheets, holding them around herself as she was presented with one of the dresses that had been hung in the wardrobe of the room she'd been brought to; her room now, she supposed. Behind her sat one of the Dornish ladies in waiting, twisting her hair up and away from her neck and shoulders, to keep her cooler, in the Dornish style. Her own handmaiden, the red-haired woman who had accompanied her from the Westerlands named Marlyn, was sitting beside her, bowl of cool water and washcloth sitting in her lap, dabbing every now and then at Ylsa's temple. It was later on in the evening, with the sun hanging lower in the sky, the air just beginning to cool down, and yet Ylsa had awoken from her troubled and ill sleep sweating still. She'd been asleep several hours after being taken from the docks to the palace, stripped of the overly-heavy clothes she'd been dressed in and laid to rest under the thin sheets to allow the breeze to cool her overheated head as she napped. And yet she hardly felt much better, and even when she was offered food, all she would take was water. And now this….

"It's none too revealing for Dornish women," another of the Dornish ladies in waiting assured her, holding up the seafoam gown to show her. She said this, and yet Ylsa's eye was immediately drawn to the bare arms, the neckline that seemed to hang from the shoulders, the fabric that, while its sheer nature would have obviously lent itself to keeping the wearer from overheating, would do nothing to disguise the wearers form beneath it. And even showing her silhouette would have been too much for Ylsa, who was so used to thick cotton dresses that covered everything from neck to wrist, from bust to toe! "And the color would suit your complexion."

"I can't go out in something so bare!" Ylsa exclaimed, looking incredulously from the garment to the girl holding it, though she knew the Dornish ladies would not see her way; they found themselves dressed in similar cuts and fabrics. "It's hardly better than going around naked!"

"Would you prefer trousers, Lady Payne?" The woman who was pinning her hair up motioned for the one holding the dress to fetch another outfit, but this Ylsa shot down as well.

"Trousers!? I'm…..do Dornish women wear trousers?" It was an earnest question, and when the two Dornish handmaidens began to laugh at the inquiry, Ylsa's cheeks flared up red, and she pressed her lips together in embarrassment.

"Dornish women wear whatever we like," the lady behind her said, finishing up with the last twist, and moving to sit beside her, opposite Marlyn. "Women aren't allowed to wear trousers in the North?"

"I'm not from the North, I'm from the West, and…I suppose they could, if they really wanted to. But it's not…normal."

"To Dorne, everything North is the North," the younger of the two Dornish women said, setting the seafoam dress aside and pulling out a gauzy pearl dress next.

"How dreary, to always be confined to your heavy wool dresses," the older remarked beside Ylsa. "How are girls expected to run and play if they have to drag 30 pounds of fabric around with them everywhere?"

"Little girls and babies wear cotton dresses," Ylsa pointed out, reaching to touch the fabric of the pearl colored dress, making a slightly displeased face, her eyebrows meeting in a worried line above her eyes. "By the time we start wearing corsets and layers we don't play anymore. …I can't remember the last time I played with anyone." At this, the Dornish handmaidens glanced at each other strangely, exchanged puzzled looks.

"…How dull," the younger said bluntly. "It's a good thing you've come here. Ellanna, we should pray to the Seven in thanks, that we weren't born in the North."

"Hush!" Both of the Dornish women wore their hair in loose plaits down their backs, dark black locks curling wherever strands fell loose from the braid. They both had such easy, pretty smiles on their faces, eyes bright despite their dark chocolate color. And their deep rich skintone contrasted so painfully to Ylsa's pallid coloration, that added to their light hearted banter at her expense, she felt very intimidated by these girls. Marlyn was quite plain, even compared to Ylsa, who felt like a common daisy compared to these beautiful Dornish women. She swallowed hard. Even in a dress that revealed so much skin such as these, she would not be able to compete with the looks, or even the wit of her handmaidens. She didn't even want to try on these dresses; she'd look ridiculous, a plain thing like her in dresses like this!

"Isn't there any dress I can wear that covers up a bit more?" she asked, and the elder woman, Ellanna, chuckled.

"Do you like being too hot, child? Why do you think we use such thin fabrics? We are on the coast, but the majority of Dorne lies in the desert." She stood, taking the pearl dress from the younger woman and holding it out more forcefully towards Ylsa. "Try it. A fainting spell or two can be cute, but if you don't get used to the Dornish style of dress soon, heat exhaustion will claim another Northern woman who was too stubborn and prideful to shed her heavy layers and adopt the Dornish way."

* * *

"Trust me brother, I know the feeling." Doran smirked in amusement as his brother lounged on the chaise languidly, fixing the Prince with that look, the one that might've seemed annoying and condescending if Doran received it from anyone else. Oberyn swirled the wine in his glass a bit, before taking a sip. "A desire to taste the Northern wares is something I am all too familiar with! Beautiful men and women inhabit every corner of this great Earth, it's understandable to want to sample what each corner has to offer."

"'Northern wares', eh?" Doran said, rolling his eyes minutely. "Quite a way to speak of the owners of the beds you share."

"You know I have nothing but respect for those I share a bed with," Oberyn replied, sitting up suddenly, placing his glass on the table beside the chaise. "But there is such a thing as too much respect. Or…" He paused, searching for the right words. "Let me put it this way. You would not buy an entire heard of oxen, just for a taste of beef."

"So now we're talking of beef? I thought it was wares?" The older brother laughed then, nodding in thanks as he was brought another cup of wine.

"Don't be dense on purpose, Doran," Oberyn said light heartedly, joining his brother in his laugh. "You know what I'm getting at. We've spoken of this before."

"And I've put it to rest before as well…and yet here we are."

"Is it that you feel a man in such a position as yourself cannot leave his seat of power?" Oberyn regarded Doran carefully as he spoke, trying desperately to figure out what was going on in his head; Doran had always been impenetrable this way. It was so hard to figure out what this man was thinking. "I can assure you, the Dornish would not begrudge their beloved Prince a little adventuring! Besides, Trystane is nearly of age, it would not be unheard of for you to retire early to travel-"

"I'm well aware, it boggles the mind how fast these children grow," Doran interrupted, shaking his head.

"Then it must be your condition; I keep telling you brother, if only you'd find yourself in the open sea, the salt breeze in your lungs you'd heal much faster, you'd be as spritely as you've ever been!"

"Oh please, Oberyn, even as children, to call me 'spritely' would be a dreadful lie." He sighed, amused at the runaround way his brother was getting to his point. "What is it, Oberyn? What is it about this decision that bothers you so much? You seem to be making any argument you can against my wishes."

"I'm not trying to be oppositional," he insisted, finishing off his wine. "You've just always been one to settle on a decision so quickly, and dig your heels into it. You really are very stubborn, you know."

"What are our House words again, brother?" He smirked, setting his chalice down, to wheel his chair from the tables they sat around, to the open balcony on the far side of the room, overlooking the courtyard. "Are they, 'bow, bend, brake'?"

"You're taking the words too literally." Oberyn followed, leaning on the balcony railing, looking out over the yard, bathed in the warm light of the setting sun. His dark locks, unkempt in their usual fashion, rustled easily with the breeze. "You can change your mind, especially when the circumstance demands-"

"Does the circumstance demand, then?"

"Doran." Turning to his brother, Oberyn's smile was fading fast. "This is serious. If it was a longing for Northern flesh, I could understand that. But to marry just any woman from the North to have just a taste is overkill-"

"Is that really what you think is happening here?" Doran was quickly losing his good temper, though even so, he remained soft spoken. It had never been his way to let his nerves grow too hot; no, that was Oberyn's territory, not his.

"No, I think there is something else, but this is the only explanation I can seem to come up with to describe this….this rash decision of yours."

"You know I never hungered like you did. Like you still do." He looked away from his younger brother, closing his eyes briefly against the comfortable breeze. "I never desired quite as much. Never felt quite as deeply. But I've also never changed based on whims quite as easily. I've made my decision, and it wasn't taken as lightly as you accuse me of."

"I just don't want you to come to regret such a decision," Oberyn sighed, looking away as well.

"You don't want to regret my decision, you mean? She will be MY wife, Oberyn. You would not need to suffer any consequence my wife might bring upon me." A long silence stretched between the brothers at this, though silence between them was not uncommon. Oberyn sighed deeply, before eventually speaking up once more.

"You never did want to follow the rules."

"And you follow the rules so well," Doran answered sarcastically, relenting to an amused tone.

"First Mellario, and now this Payne girl." Oberyn smiled, remembering Doran's first wife fondly. "It was such a scandal, though I doubt you'd remember, you were far too deeply in love to have noticed anything around you at the time."

"What, my marriage to Mell?"

"See? You wouldn't have known, but I was in the Free Cities at the time; The Prince of Dorne, married to a Norvoshi. It was apparently quite an affront to the rest of Westeros. Especially since Tywin Lannister at the time had been searching so desperately for a suitable mate for his daughter. That is, before Robert came along. The gossip at the time had been that he'd inquire to you, but you chose Mellario instead."

"I loved Mellario," Doran replied, eyebrows knitting together.

"Yes, we knew. It was hard to miss. But none the less, it wasn't what was expected of you."

"Oh, and you're one to talk!" Reaching over, Doran pinched at his brother's ribs, as if they were children again. "Refusing to take a wife, keeping your Paramour sacrosanct!"

"I am not the crown Prince," he rebutted, grinning at the meager taunting. "And now this! She's…."

"-Charming," Doran finished, but was met by a look of sarcastic disbelief from Oberyn.

"I heard she threw up into the harbor," he said bluntly.

"You would have seen it yourself if you'd bothered to show up. She was seasick, can you blame her? And you should have seen what they had dressed her in; cotton and wool, for the sake of the Seven-"

"Was she at least…" Oberyn paused then, before leaning up off the railing briefly to make a somewhat rude gesture about the feminine figure, to which Doran attempted to pinch him once more.

"Stop that!" he chastised, rolling his eyes. "It was hard to tell, in any case, as she was so bundled up. You'd think her father thought he was sending her to the true North."

"…You might've taken the Princess, at least," Oberyn said, a tone of final rellentment in his voice. "If you were going to ally our house to the enemy, you might've at least wed the Princess and not some vassal girl."

"Princess Myrcella is 14," Doran pointed out, shivering at that thought.

"And Lady Payne is hardly older."

"Coming from someone whose love resides within a bastard woman, I would have thought you'd be the last to judge a man on the status of his wife?" Doran was well aware of his brother and his brother's paramour's opinions on this matter; he'd been arguing this same issue ever since he'd announced the news.

"It's not my opinion of you that truly matters, Doran, and you know it." Running a hand through his hair, he chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. "You are the Prince. What you do matters. Whom you do it with matters."

"…I know it." The Prince shifted slightly in his seat, his elbows setting on the armrests, lacing his fingers together under his chin in thought. "I've lived my entire life knowing this, Oberyn, you don't need to remind me of something I am well aware of."

"Don't I?" Another long silence spread between them, before Oberyn sighed once more, and turned, as if to leave. "You are my brother, and I don't judge you. But I am not your jury. Dorne is." With these words, Oberyn moved to leave, leaving Doran alone on the balcony, looking out over the tops of the palms that swayed slightly in the dying light of the day. Below him, he could see the servants, just starting to advance through the palace grounds, lighting the night torches as they went.

"…I know." He repeated, this time only to himself. "I know."


	4. Chapter Three - Coffee in the Garden

Ylsa was very unused to this sort of treatment. Well, there were many things about her current situation that she was unused to, but being waited on was certainly one of the most prominent. Even just having Marlyn wait on her throughout the entire voyage to Sunspear had been strange enough, though she wasn't complaining. Despite Marlyn's older age, Ylsa had been desperately grateful for her handmaiden's company. But now that she was here in Sunspear, she found not only handmaidens but guards at her beck and call, and honestly, not only was she unused to this, she was a bit perturbed by it as well.

Ylsa's Septa had been sent away ages ago, when Ylsa was barely 12, well before her education should have ended when her father married his new wife. And shortly after, Ylsa had been forced to attend to her step-mother's beck and call, so she was far more adept at serving, rather than being served. Even if she hadn't been forced to look after her step-mother's affairs, House Payne's words even reflected their servile nature; "To Serve is Joy", a reflection of their vassalage to House Lannister. So now, waking at her handmaiden's words and not the demands of an angry old woman, to be dressed and powered and treated and not to work, she felt utterly foreign.

"You don't need to," she tried to protest, as she was sat down to have her hair brushed through and pinned, but her handmaidens, Ellanna and the other whom she'd come to know was named Telen, were not of the immediately obedient nature. They had a job to do, and they were going to do it. So Ylsa had to sit uncomfortably as she was attended to, the entire time feeling guilty to be so much trouble to others.

"I said I wouldn't wear that one," she said, as Telen once again tried to dress her in the gauzy pearl colored gown from the night before. "It's too sheer."

"I've told you," Telen said, rolling her eyes (an act that would have rewarded Ylsa back home with a sharp slap from her step-mother) "It doesn't reveal anything, I could even put it on myself to show you that you would be perfectly decent."

"You just want an excuse to wear it, admit it," Ellanna joked, smiling slyly at the other.

"So what if I do? I can't understand why Ylsa doesn't, it's gorgeous." Ylsa pursed her lips unhappily, the mere thought of being seen in anything other than her normal attire was humiliating to think of. And yet….even in her loose sleeping gown, she was already feeling warm. And she certainly didn't want to embarrass herself further in front of the Prince and his court, not while she was apologizing for her previous humiliation the day before. She let out a deep sigh through her nose.

"It's….what the ladies in Dorne wear?" she asked quietly.

"The ladies in Dorne wear whatever they want," Telen reiterated, "and men know to keep their mouths shut if they want to keep all their teeth in their head." Well, Ylsa knew she would not be knocking anyone's teeth out today, but, if this sort of dress was not what was considered strange….then it would do her well to try and fit in among her new consort? It was then that an errant thought crossed her mind.

"The Princess Myrcella," she suddenly remembered, "this is the type of gown the Princess wears, right?"

"More or less." Ellanna tucked a curl behind Ylsa's ear, finishing her hair with a jeweled pin at her temple. This set Ylsa's nerves a bit at ease; if the Princess, who had also come from 'the North' as the Dornish put it, was wearing the same sort of frocks, then it was surely alright for Ylsa to do so? She relented reluctantly.

"Alright. This one is fine."

"What? Unhappy that it is not the same quality as the Princess?" Ellanna teased, standing to fetch a wrap; she suspected no matter the heat, that Ylsa might feel more comfortable with a wrap around her shoulders. Ylsa tensed as Telen all but yanked the gossamer fabric over her head.

"I…no! No, of course not! I wouldn't….I just, if the Princess is wearing something similar, than I thought, it would also be appropriate for me to wear something like hers!" She stuttered slightly as she tried to explain herself, her arm getting caught up in the dressings before she pulled it through properly. She felt altogether too 'loose' in this dress, seeing as there were no undergarments to compliment it; no corsets, no petticoats, no bunched crinoline or boning. Just fabric, nipped and tucked at her waist and criss-crossed along the bust with rather delicate woven silk cords. This would hardly be appropriate for nightware in the Westerlands, let alone to be seen in public! "I don't want to be thought of as strange or…or Seven forbid, indecent!"

"Please child!" Ellanna laughed, tying the silken cords behind her and going to fetch a necklace. "There is no time for modesty when you're running for shade and water in the desert. It's a lesson you will soon learn. Besides." Clasping the necklace behind her neck, and stepping back, Telen did similar, letting the hem of her skirts flutter easily to the floor. The morning breeze that whispered in through the open archways of the room ruffled her dress slightly, which Ylsa tried her best to keep from moving. "You look lovely."

"Doran will think so," Telen added, giving the older woman a somewhat wry expression; Ylsa wondered what that meant exactly. Ellanna did not return the look, and motioned for Ylsa to follow.

"Come. He's asked for you to join him in the gardens." Ylsa nodded slightly at this, glancing at Marlyn and Telen briefly before her and Elenna departed. Keeping pace with her, Ylsa didn't want to be a bother and chatter at her, but….one of her flaws was curiosity. There was a saying about that, wasn't there? Something about a cat?

"He's not…..upset, is he?" she finally asked, keeping her hands clasped close to her chest. "About my…indiscretion yesterday?"

"Indiscretion? You were seasick over the dock." Ylsa flinched at the handmaiden's bluntness, but it was the truth after all. She just nodded. "You will know when you meet him properly, Doran is not the type to be offended so easily. Dornishmen aren't as picky about introduction as Northerners."

"It was terribly rude of me though. I didn't even say hello, or thank him properly-"

"You can say hello today then. You're thinking too much." The raven-haired woman led her down a set of spiral stairs, the steps carved meticulously right into the sandstone. Through an open corridor, Ylsa could hear the coastal beards making their morning din over the harbor. It wasn't an unpleasant sound. "That's not the Dornish way."

"But I doubt the Dornish way is to be sick upon first glance and faint." This made Ellanna opening laugh out loud, and she turned, placing a hand on Ylsa's bare shoulder.

"You are funny, Lady Payne. You'll make Doran laugh, he'll like that." Smiling kindly, her cheeks dimpling a bit, Ellanna motioned for Ylsa to continue on; the corridor opened up to a vined trellis, that led no doubt into the garden. "He's just through there. Relax, Ylsa. You look stiff as a board."

"Stiff as a board is the Western way," Ylsa pointed out, trying to breathe as she followed her handmaiden's beckoning, continuing on into the Garden alone. Her silken slippers padded along the soft moss underfoot quietly, as she bit her lip. Internally, she rehearsed what she would say when she met the Prince. 'Good Morning, Your Grace,' she would start out, curtsying- oh Lord, how would she curtsy properly in this dress!? 'I hope you slept well. I wanted to apologize for my impoliteness yesterday afternoon. My indiscretion was inexcusable, and I am dearly sorry for my rudeness.' Yes, yes that would do. She swallowed hard, going over it again and again in her head.

The pathway she was walking opened up about 100 meters down into a small clearing, where it looked as if several flowering bushes had been diverted from their natural growth to form a sort of shielded enclave. Fine rugs and cushions had been set around a low table set with tea and breakfast, though Ylsa only knew the food as breakfast foods from the time of day, for most of what was laid out were foods she was unfamiliar with, from sight or smell. Overhead, from their trellis vines stretched, letting the soft white flowers that bloomed from them hang down, a petal or two falling every now and then. Shaded, it was somewhat cold in this flowering enclave, and Ylsa pulled her wrap around her slightly, finding it funny she was chilly in such a hot climate. It was early yet though.

Doran sat in his chair, as usual though Ylsa wouldn't have known that. A scarf of burnished red hung around his high-collared neck, with the Martell crest threaded through one end, keeping the other secure. He was leaned away from Ylsa as she approached, speaking quietly with the lone guard that stood by him, an older man whose head shone brightly, either shaved or bald, and whose height dwarfed any man Ylsa had ever met with face to face. Doran's face was unshaven, though not unkempt; he must've been unshaven yesterday as well, though Ylsa wouldn't have noticed, and in his forehead set a deep worry-wrinkle in between his eyebrows.

As The Prince and his guard's attention had not yet fallen upon Ylsa, she was able to pause, taking in the sight of her betrothed for the first time properly. The first and foremost striking factor was, of course, their age difference. Ylsa had known the Prince was older; of course, his son was nearly her age. It certainly wasn't unheard of for young women to marry older men, even much, much older than they, and, at the very least, Doran was not exceedingly decrepit. Despite the worry wrinkle, and his deepset, storm green eyes that could have belonged to the most battle-worn warrior, he was not unsightly, in fact one could attribute a sort of stately handsomeness to his features. There was a streak of gray through his dark brunette locks, but even that Ylsa could live with. She did suppose it could be much worse.

But of course, it was not his looks Ylsa's worries laid with.

Doran couldn't hardly remember what he'd even been speaking to Areo about. As soon as he noticed his guard's eyes lift, the Prince's attention shifted as well, startled somewhat by the sudden, silent appearance of Lady Payne. Though, he could scarcely believe the creature before them was the same girl who had been so distraught and ill the day before; she had that pallid nervousness to her, but here she was, cloaked in pale pearl, brushed up to look the part of a proper guest to the Dornish royal family. Doran's momentary shock gave way to his customary warm smile.

"Lady Payne," he greeted, turning his full attention to her. "You startled me; you're so quiet, I didn't hear you approach!" He glanced back at his Captain of the Guard. "Should I have your head for your unobservance, Areo?" He chuckled lightly, but at this, Ylsa looked stricken, and any well-rehearsed monologue in her mind flew out the window as she panicked.

"I'm sorry, your Grace!" she apologized quickly, bowing her head, to Doran's surprise. "I didn't mean to, I shouldn't have-"

"I was only kidding!" Doran waved his hands, one corner of his mouth quirking up into a lopsided, awkward smile. "I wasn't serious, My Lady! Please, come!" He held his hand out to her, beckoning her to come closer, cursing his ailing foot for not letting him approach her instead. Ylsa held her pause a while, before hesitantly stepping forward. Her hands were clasped so tightly at her chest that he could see her knuckles run white from the pressure, and when she finally extended her hand for Doran to take, he could feel how clammy her palms were. "I won't be having anyone's head, not today."

"I'm truly sorry, your Grace," Ylsa repeated, not looking up to meet his gaze. "For yesterday, as well…it was so terribly ingracious of me."

"There is nothing to apologize for, My Lady. It was audacious of me to assume you wouldn't be ill and exhausted from such a voyage. And please." He smiled brighter as he saw her eyes flicker up to his face briefly. "I'm no King. Doran is perfectly acceptable." Motioning for her to sit among the cushions laid out, Doran was amused to watch her try and tame her skirts as she sat, as they billowed up around her airily. Her cheeks were pink from the unfamiliarity of the situation. "I won't show the bad decorum of asking how your voyage went."

"It was lovely," Ylsa insisted, glancing at the cup laid before her by the cupbearer that seemed to immerge from nowhere, bewildering her. There was a strong dark liquid within. "I mean, apart from being ill…"

"It's alright to tell the truth." She looked up suddenly, startled by that; she was only trying to be polite, why did he keep insisting she show bad manners? Her face flushed further. "Sailing isn't for everyone," he continued, noticing her eyeing the cup placed before her warily. "Do they not have coffee in the North?"

"Is coffee a type of Dornish tea?" Ylsa asked, giving up on trying to remind everyone that 'The North' was an actual region, and not just a blanket term for anywhere in Westeros that wasn't Dorne. She picked up her cup, taking a sip, and immediately wrinkling her nose at the bitter taste. Areo couldn't hold in a sudden chuckle, though Doran was better at keeping his laughter in.

"It's a bit like tea, in a way. It's certainly an acquired taste. You might stomach it better at first with cream and sugar." As if on cue, the cupbearer returned, setting a small tray with a carafe of cream and a bowl of sugar lumps in front of her; Ylsa mentally remarked on how different Dorne was, even to the last detail. Even the sugar here was different, a deep brown color, and clumpy, as opposed to the grainy white sugar she was used to in the West. "The Princess Myrcella made the exact same face when she tried her first sip."

"It's…..distinctive." Ylsa chose her words carefully, following the Prince's suggestion and trying the drink with a fair amount of cream and sugar, turning the inky brown liquid a more pleasing caramel, and found that, even though it was still rather bitter, it was indeed more palatable.

"You don't have to like coffee either." Doran sat back in his chair, lacing his fingers together, studying the girl before him. "You're not required to be so polite, Lady Payne. If something displeases you, please, tell me. The last thing I want to do is to impose a choice you're unhappy with onto you." It was a funny enough statement, Doran mentally remarked. It was all well and good to say this, as he was imposing a betrothal on her. Though, he wondered if it was truly an imposition? Women in the North he knew were much more compliant to the wishes of men, though that certainly didn't make their compliance right. But that was a dilemma to ruminate on for another time. "You won't anger or offend me to let me know when you're unhappy."

"I'm not unhappy," she asserted, taking another sip as if to prove her point. If anything, her earnesty was endearing. "…But, I will. Let you know, I mean, if I am. ….Thank you." She met his eyes briefly, blue on deep green, before looking away, her hands fidgeting slightly in her lap. It was then, however, that she remembered part of what she had wanted to say to the Prince. "Thank you, your G- …Prince Doran. For accepting my father's proposal. It is truly an honor to be here." Her head bowed low, and at this, Doran glanced very quickly at Areo; what a strange set of words to say, he thought. Despite her genuine tone they were such formal words so…practiced. It rubbed Doran the wrong way.

"There is no need to thank me. I only wish-" he paused, feeling somewhat…strange. That was the only way to describe it, it was a strange, foreign feeling. He didn't much like this feeling. "…I hope we are a good match."

Ylsa smiled at this, looking away, but not unhappily so. The calls of the harbor birds filled the silence between them, and she smiled as a bit of her worry chipped away; Doran was not what she'd expected him to be, but he seemed very kind, at least so far. And alone, or relatively alone as they were, she knew it was not for show; who would he be showing for? Not decrepit, and kind. That was all Ylsa could hope for in a match, and it appeared as if she were to receive it.

* * *

"You're usually quite the orator," Areo remarked, escorting Prince Doran back to his study. Ylsa had been fetched by her handmaidens after the breakfast they'd taken in the garden, leaving Doran with his old friend, and so far, the two of them had been silent. Until now, that is. "But you seemed to have trouble with some of your words just then."

"The things she said threw me off a bit," Doran replied, drumming his fingers on the armrests. "Repartee only flows smoothly when both parties can keep up with one another."

"It did appear as if she threw a spear in your spokes once or twice."

"She's a curious girl. Even Myrcella isn't quite as…" Doran couldn't quite find a fitting descriptor for Ylsa.

"Beautiful?" Areo supplied, smiling slightly. "In a Northern sort of way."

"To be honest, I hardly noticed, and it wasn't for lack of beauty," the Prince replied, shaking his head. He stayed quiet for a while, just thinking on his own interpretations of the morning. As his friend wheeled him into his study, he raised his eyebrows at him, wondering silently what the other was thinking. "Northern women are a creature all their own, it seems. And I thought Mellario was such a rare creature."

"The North is more staunch, if you ask me. Didn't Oberyn warn you of this?"

"Oh, Oberyn's warned me of many things." Doran tapped his fingers together under his chin. "He warned me of buying the herd when I only wanted a taste for the beef."

"What is it and that man comparing women to foods? One day it's fine wine, the next, cheese, then beef? Next he will see a fig in the street and proclaim every woman he's ever bedded is like a fig! Squishy but with a hard pit on the inside or some such." Doran laughed at this; Areo was wise, that was for sure. Wise to the ways of the Martells, at least.

"It wasn't for a taste I agreed to bring her, you know," Doran continued, now seated at his desk, leaning his elbows on the polished wooden surface. "I could have a taste of paler flesh in the city. But…I couldn't tell you why it was. And speaking to her doesn't clear the reason up; in fact it only clouds it more."

"The more you thrash in shallow water, the more sand is kicked up, and the fewer fish you will see. You'd think the ocean was barren of fish for all the sand you've kicked up with your thinking and rethinking, Doran." Areo settled at his usual post in the corner of the room, spinning his spear lightly between his hands, before settling it beside him. "Let the water's calm. You'll find the shallows teeming with fish, if only you'd let the sand settle."


	5. Chapter Four - Dornish Bazaar

"What does that make her, to me? Will she be the Princess or Dorne, or will I?" Septa Englantine smiled kindly at the Princess as they made their way through the sunlit corridors. The elder woman had offered to carry the bouquet, but Myrcella had insisted, she wanted to present Lady Payne with the flowers herself, seeing as she'd helped pick them. She skipped ahead of her consort excitedly, her features pretty in the afternoon sunshine as she smiled. She was such a pretty child. "How much older than me is she? Could we be friends?"

"You could be friends with her even if she were my age, I'm sure Princess," Englantine replied, chuckling lightheartedly. "The whole world wants to be your friend, sweet child."

"But you know what I mean!" Myrcella had been excited to meet Ylsa since she'd been told there would be another visitor in the Palace at Sunspear from 'the North' as the Dornish kept calling it; in reality, Ylsa was from the Westerlands, and while Myrcella had only ever been to the Westerlands to visit, that was where her mother and Uncles were from. She was excited to have a peer from her side of the world to befriend. Not that the Dornish girls were bad company, but…she was still growing accustomed to how rowdy Dornish children could be. It would be a pleasant relief to meet someone who came from a mild mannered upbringing, like her own had been. "If she's too old she'll think I'm childish."

"She's not too much older, dear, a few years. And until you marry Trystane proper, I'm assuming she will assume the title of Princess of Dorne. If she marries before you come of age, that is." The Septa reached out then and smoothed a flyaway lock of the Princess' golden hair then, tucking it behind her ear.

"Well, why wouldn't she?" Myrcella turned an inquisitive eye to her tutor, honestly curious. "If she's already of age, she should marry Prince Doran immediately, shouldn't she?"

"Well, perhaps there will be some hesitation." Englantine had heard a few whispers through the palace staff that the Prince was in no rush to marry the girl he'd only just had shipped in from the Westerlands, and for Lady Payne's sake, the Septa thanked the Merciful Mother. "Think about it; you and Trystane have so much time to get to know one another before you marry; Lady Payne should have a little time to get to know Prince Doran too, shouldn't she?" Myrcella looked thoughtful for a moment, before shyly nodding her head.

"I suppose you're right. …I wish it would be soon though. I'll be missing Sansa and Joffrey's wedding, I'd like to attend SOMEONE'S wedding. Besides, I've never seen a Dornish wedding gown."

"I'm sure it will come all too soon, Princess. Just be patient." She ushered the girl onwards, climbing the spiral steps up into the tower where Lady Payne's chambers were. The two of them were shown into the front room, where Ylsa and Marlyn were seated on a cushioned lounging chair, both looking far too stiff for a reclined chaise. The former was deep in thought with a pen in her hand, a roll of parchment spread out in her lap.

"Lady Payne?" Myrcella broke the relative quiet first, stepping into the arched lounge room in her satin slippers, smiling rather bashfully as Ylsa looked up.

"Princess!" Marlyn spoke first, as Ylsa for a moment was not sure who it was addressing her; once Marlyn stood to curtsy to the Princess, Ylsa scrambled to follow.

"Princess Myrcella," she greeted hastily, curtsying as well, though the formal feminine greeting of greater-Westeros seemed so mismatched in the loose flowing dress Ylsa wore. Myrcella parroted the action back, though her arms were full of the bouquet of flowers and vines, which she quickly offered to the older girl.

"I've brought these for you, Lady Payne! To welcome you to Dorne!" Ylsa moved to take the flowers offered to her, but Marlyn swooped in before she could, and took them, looking around for a suitable basket or vase to display them.

"Oh, Marlyn, you didn't need to-"

"Let me handle it, Lady Payne!" she tuttered, setting the bouquet in the basket Telen was quick to fetch for them, setting the entire thing on the table in the middle of the sitting area. "There!" Ylsa stood by idly, feeling award yet again having her affairs tended to for her.

"Er…that was too kind of you Princess, thank you," she said, trying to mask her awkwardness by turning back to Myrcella, who blushed lightly, shaking her head.

"Not at all! When I first got here, Trystane brought me enough flowers to fill my entire room, I thought it was lovely, and I wanted to bring you some of the beautiful flowers they grow here as well." Ylsa bowed her head slightly, attempting to graciously accept the welcome, setting her parchment and pen aside; her letter home would have to wait for now.

"Please, My Lady, sit!" She motioned for the Princess to have a seat with her, as Ellanna went to fetch drinks for the two of them. Myrcella obliged, sitting right beside Ylsa on the chaise lounge, and not across from her in a naively friendly gesture. Ylsa was a bit flustered by her overt friendliness; she wasn't very used to socializing with anyone close to her own age, so she wasn't quite sure if this was normal or not, but she accepted it as graciously as possible, smoothing out her skirts to give her hands something to do.

"Call me Myrcella! 'My Lady' sounds so stuffy!" Her smile was as bright as the sun as she spoke, reaching out to take one of Ylsa's fidgeting hands. "I want us to be good friends!"

"Oh! ….Of course, Lady Myrcella! You may call me Ylsa, as well." Ylsa was, in truth, a bit intimidated by how forward Myrcella was, but she was just a girl. She almost wanted to laugh; despite the Princess' younger age, Ylsa felt as though she was leagues ahead of her. She supposed that was just an unhappy byproduct of her isolation back at home. ….Er, her father's home, now. Perhaps Myrcella's overzealous friendliness was a good thing; Ylsa could do with some more confidence and assuredness. She smiled back at the younger girl.

"How are you liking Dorne so far?" Myrcella asked, eager to hear about her first few impressions. "Everything is so different, isn't it? Even the things they eat are different!"

"Oh, yes, I've been adjusting…rather slowly, unfortunately." Ylsa shifted slightly, still vaguely uncomfortable in the dress she wore. "I'm so used to my old way of doing things….and I'm not a very fast learner, I'm afraid."

"Don't worry, you'll get used to it in no time!" Myrcella and Ylsa looked up at the same time as Ellanna brought them a tray with a tea setting; Ylsa was greatly relieved to recognize the smell of the brewing tea leaves. "Oh, this smells familiar…this isn't Dornish tea, is it?"

"No, it's blackberry tea, I brought a bundle of the leaves from home on the ship with me; it's my favorite, and I didn't know if I'd be able to get any more of it once I arrived." Thanking Ellanna, Ylsa poured both cups, lifting hers to inhale deeply. "My mother and I used to drink this during thunder storms together and listen to the rain fall."

"That sounds lovely! I remember this tea being served in King's Landing; it's a specialty of the Westerlands, isn't it?"

"Yes, though it always seemed like we were shipping more of it out than we were drinking ourselves." Taking a sip, Ylsa let the memories of a happier time come rushing back in on her, before she had to pull her head back out of the clouds.

"I've only visited the West," Myrcella confessed, taking a drink herself. "But it was lovely country. Mother's from the Westerlands, and Grandfather and my Uncles."

"Yes, from Casterly Rock; I visited Casterly Rock with my mother and father when I was very young, but I don't remember much of it."

"Was it just you and your parents?" the Princess asked innocently, and behind her, Septa Englantine and Marlyn bristled ever so slightly. Ylsa didn't cringe though, just shook her head.

"For a while, yes. My mother was pregnant with her second child when she died of sickness. Then it was just me and father for a little while before he married my step-mother. Now she's just had my little brother, Fabian." She paused slightly, pursing her lips. "…That's why I'm here." Myrcella was quiet for a bit, realizing she'd asked a somewhat difficult question, and feeling a bit bad. But to her benefit, bless her soul, she did attempt to lift the mood.

"The Gods are good, though; everything that has happened has led you here! You'll be married to a Prince, and a good one at that!" In her sunny childlike optimism, Myrcella was under the impression that any girl would be more than thrilled to be wed to a Prince, no matter the circumstance. "You could be married to my brother Prince Joffrey; he's a bit scary though. He yells at Sansa a lot. Or my brother Prince Tommen but he's only 13. Prince Doran is better than either of them!" Septa Englantine tried to intervene, to keep the Princess from sticking her foot farther in her mouth, but Ylsa spoke before she had a chance.

"You're right, I should be thankful." Her expression previously had been bordering on wistful melancholy, but she steeled herself, trying to convince herself of her own words. "Prince Doran is a gentleman, I'm very lucky to have had him accept my father's offer."

"And we never would have met if he hadn't!" The Princess grinned, before a tiny flash of…something glinted in her sapphire eyes. She let a small moment pass, Ylsa wondering what was on her mind, before she suddenly stood, looking back to her Septa. "In fact, I think we should go pray to the Seven now, to thank them! Ylsa, have you been to the Sept here in the Palace yet?"

"Oh….Er, I haven't. It's slipped my mind, to be honest, I should have-"

"Let's go now then!" Grabbing her hand again, Myrcella pulled Ylsa to her feet, dragging her along behind her as she outsped her stunned Septa, who had not known the Princess to be so devout before. The two younger girls sped along the halls, one pulling the other, the younger wearing a look of deviousness, as their caretakers called out behind them for them to slow down and wait. But Myrcella didn't let up, encouraging Ylsa to speed up even.

"Lady Myrcella, why are we running?" Ylsa asked, a laugh on the edge of her voice from the ridiculousness of the situation.

"We're trying to lose them," she answered, ducking around a corner quickly, pulling Ylsa with her, and motioning for her to duck down and stay silent. As the both stooped, peeping around the corner, they watched as Septa Englantine and Marlyn passed them completely, thinking the two of them had truly gone on ahead to the Sept. As soon as their footsteps were out of earshot, Myrcella stood, motioning for Ylsa to do the same.

"Why? Did you not want them to come to the Sept with us?"

"We're not going to the Sept," Myrcella announced proudly, pleased that her idea had worked. "We're going to the Bazaar in the city!" She started down another corridor, Ylsa hot on her heels. "My Septa never lets me go down without an escort, and when we do, the roads are always cleared, and no one else is around. It's never any fun. When we were talking about the Princes, it sort of reminded me that the life of a Prince or Princess can be sort of…" she motioned vaguely with her hands, looking for the right word. "….no fun. I never got to go to the outdoor market in King's Landing, and now that I'm here in Dorne, with a new friend who's new here too, I thought we could go down to the bazaar together, and experience it truly!"

"Isn't that a bit dangerous, Princess?" Ylsa asked; she'd been down to the town with her escorts in the Westerlands before, but then again, a daughter of lowly House Payne was not such a valuable target as the Princess. "Without guards, someone could try to hurt you-"

"Who will know me here? This is Dorne, no one outside of the Palace has ever seen me! We'll be safe, I know it! Come on!" She turned back to shoot the older girl a pleading look. "I've never had a real friend like you before, only handmaidens, and they don't ever let me do anything fun! Aren't you curious to see real Dornish markets?" Ylsa hadn't given it much thought, honestly, but….now that Myrcella was proposing the idea, she had to admit she was a little curious. And she'd never really done much outside of her home alone before….she did have a point, this could be fun.

"Well….alright, but let's stay together, or else we'll get lost." Holding her hand tighter, as if to cement the idea, Myrcella nodded enthusiastically, and the two of them continued on, careful to avoid being seen by the various guards and staff around the Palace grounds. As they made their way out of sight, they slipped from a gated entrance in one of the back gardens, that Ylsa had a sneaking suspicion Myrcella had known about for a while and been keeping in the back of her mind, and down a secluded flight of inlaid stairs, that led through an alley, and out onto one of the roads that led up from the city to the palace. Finally out of the Palace grounds, they made their way down the main road, and from their it was easy enough to find the grand bazaar; the noise could be heard from streets away.

"I've never seen so many Dornishmen in one place before!" Myrcella excitedly whispered as the two of them slipped into the crowd in the marketplace. Ylsa was feeling a bit overwhelmed by how many people were there and how much noise there was, but she had to admit, a part of her did feel a bit giddy to be out like this! The two girls found themselves gaping at the various wares sold in the booths lining the streets, laughing as they imagined themselves clothed in the various fabrics the peddlers tried to hock.

"Can I interest a couple of pretty Northerners in a fine jade necklace, imported directly from Mereen?" one called out to them, holding up a necklace that at first glance did appear to be inlaid with jade, but as Myrcella and Ylsa drew closer to look, was actually set with something that looked closer to colored green glass.

"Fine silk from Esos!" Another shouted through the crowd, drawing their curious eyes. "Hand embroidered Esosi silk!" The man behind the booth took one look at Myrcella, and a smile split his weathered sandy features. "Ah, I'd recognize hair like spun gold anywhere; am I speaking with a young Lannister girl?" Myrcella looked up at him shocked, to which the man laughed heartily, having guessed correctly.

"How….I-I don't know what you're talking about!" she replied bashfully, glancing sideways at Ylsa. She was partway telling the truth; Myrcella WAS a Baratheon, after all.

"Don't be shy, pretty girl; a customer is a customer, I'd not begrudge a Lannister coin over any other. Here, take a look at this." As the man turned to sort through a few bindles of silk he kept behind the counter, Myrcella shot a quick look at Ylsa. Ylsa only shrugged; she knew the Dornish did not have such a high regard for Lannisters, and being picked out like this could be dangerous, but the man seemed kind enough, and he was right. Who was a merchant to deny anyone a sale, even a House the Dornish historically did not like? The two girls stood at his booth silently exchanging wary glances, as through the crowd, knowing eyes watched on.

"Here!" Finally finding the correct bindle, the merchant pulled out a roll of exquisitely embroidered golden silk. At the hems, a pattern of tiny lions was stitched, each more perfectly embodied than the last. Myrcella's eyes lit up then, captivated by the pattern, and Ylsa's gaze strayed a bit, as she inspected the embroidery on a roll of loosely woven silk laid out on the counter already. It was nearly translucent, the weaving was so delicate, and the embroidery at the hem was equally as sparse and dainty; yellow flowers on a pale lavender background. It was quite the handiwork, she mentally remarked, wondering what these flowers were. Daisies? No, perhaps poppies. And in her House colors no less. If she'd had any money on her, she'd want to buy some, if not to wear, then just to admire.

"This is gorgeous," Myrcella admired, drawing Ylsa's attention back. "This would make such a lovely dress, wouldn't it?" She held up a corner of the fabric for Ylsa to see, and she nodded, envisioning what a pretty gown such a fabric would make. Myrcella looked back to the merchant apologetically. "I don't have any money with me today, but maybe I could ask Septa Englantine to ask Trystane or Prince Doran to have this bought for me-"

"Am I in the company of visiting Royalty?" the merchant suddenly interrupted, glancing at the two girls, who both looked rather stricken with that slip of the tongue. "Prince Doran and Prince Trystane you say….." His voice dropped in volume a bit, the girls struggling slightly to hear him over the din of the marketplace. "You must be Princess Myrcella, then? So, the rumors are true?" The two girls stepped closer to one another then, as the eyes that watched them through the crowded bazaar kept close watch over their interaction. "I hadn't thought….well then. Why don't I keep this set aside, for when your Prince comes to fetch it for you?" He switched back to his previous volume and joviality, rolling the silk back up, and tuning to set it aside for Myrcella, whose worried expression began to melt. "And for your friend? Anything I can set aside for you, M'Lady?"

"O-oh!" Ylsa was surprised to be addressed, but shook her head quickly. "No, that's alright! But thank you!"

"Suit yourself. Don't worry, Princess; I won't sound the alarm on your outing." He winked kindly at Myrcella, who smiled in return, her guard dropping back down. Ylsa's guard remained slightly raised. "You'd better get going though; still so much to see before your guards catch up with you."

"Thank you!" Myrcella chirped, turning to Ylsa, nodding as she took her hand again. "C'mon!" The two of them moved right along, and, unbeknownst to them, so did their silent watcher.

"Maybe we should buy you a hat," Ylsa said, half joking, but half serious.

"I'm not the only blonde girl in the whole world," Myrcella said, stopping at another stall, fingering a delicate golden bracelet. "Besides; I'm sure he was just being nice. He'll probably wait ten minutes and call the Palace guards anyway, then we'll be whisked away to the Prince who will scold us…or at least me. You're his betrothed, he might not scold you."

"I'd be more afraid of your Septa scolding then of Prince Doran…" Ylsa said, shivering slightly. Myrcella paused at that, thinking for a moment, before making a face.

"…You're right…" she said quietly, worrying her lower lip. "Hmmm…let's just not get caught!"

"Good plan!" Ylsa laughed, and the two of them continued on. As they laughed and made their way around, the silent presence that tailed them continued to get closer and closer, though always just out of their sight. He was, after all, much better at concealing himself than they were. As were the others that followed them, to his dismay.

"What a pretty necklace." The two girls had been too engrossed watched the street performance at the end of the boulevard; a set of trained little furry creatures, monkeys, dancing at the feet of a Bravossi man, whom people tossed coins to as they danced to the music played by a woman with a funny looking stringed instrument. But as someone spoke up directly behind Myrcella, as they were towards the back of the crowd, the naïve girl turned with a smile on her face, only to have it immediately dissolve as the man who'd complimented her set a heavy hand on her shoulder. Ylsa turned suddenly too, to see not just one man, but three, one of them blocking them from the rest of the crowd, and a means of escape. The man who had hold of Myrcella grinned, as the younger girl clutched at Ylsa's hand. The two of them huddled closer together, eyes wide as they realized the three men surrounding them were of a sinister nature.

"What's a Princess and her little friend doing in the bazaar without their chaperones?" another said quietly, as the third motioned towards the alley at the end of the boulevard, as if to chivalrously usher the two girls into the darkness. Neither moved.

"Don't make a scene, Princess," the first man said, as the second drew the dagger at his hip, the beauty of the finely crafted hilt and polished silver of the blade lost on Ylsa as it was held, inconspicuous to the crowd, pointed end to her belly. "Unless you'd like to watch your friend bleed out on the street?" Ylsa glanced at Myrcella, her gut clenching painfully, though knowing it was desperately unwise for her to oblige these men. But of course she was going to, the last thing Myrcella wanted was to see Ylsa be stabbed. Nodding meekly, she let out a terrified squeak as the man who had hold of her shoved her slightly, herding both girls into the alleyway, away from the eyes of the crowd. Or at least, the eyes of most of the crowd.

"Desperately unwise of you, Princess," the first man sneered, as the second took hold of Ylsa immediately, pressing the blade to her neck as soon as no one else could see them. Ylsa yelped in fear and surprise, but a hand was hastily slapped over her mouth, reducing her voice to a whimper. Myrcella tried to reach for her, but was pulled away by the other two, who were grinning wickedly at her. "To be out alone like this; any old braggart could kidnap such an expensive hostage such as yourself!"

"A nice big ransom the Queen Mother would pay for you, I think?" the other man who held her laughed, yanking her by a fistful of her hair to look at him. "If you come quietly, we'll make sure you find your way back to her in one piece."

"No!" Ylsa tried to gasp behind her assailant's hand, but it only ended up a stifled muffle. The blade at her throat was pressed closer as she struggled, cutting a thin line across her neck, at which Myrcella started to cry.

"Don't hurt her!" she pleaded, trying to struggle herself. "Let her go! I'll come quietly if you let her go!"

"That's not how hostage negotiations work, Lannister. You shut up, or we'll do as we please with that one." The first man motioned to Ylsa flippantly, before he paused, and then looked back at the man holding the brunette. "On second thought, why don't we do what we like with her anyway?"

"Stop! Stop, she's betrothed to Prince Doran!" Myrcella cried, biting at the other man's fingers as he tried to silence her. "He'll have your head on a spike if you hurt her!"

"So this is the thing Doran imported to fuck?" The first man, a great brute of a villain, heavy set and sour-faced with a scar running from chin to neck to chest, he regarded Ylsa curiously as tears started to well up in her eyes, before laughing, soon joined by his two companions. "Well, why don't we introduce her to the 'Dornish Way' before she shares his bed? After all, you Northerners are terrible lays until you're properly educated on how to please a Dornishman." Myrcella was stifled just as she opened her mouth to scream, but before the brutish man could advance on Ylsa, and before her captor could drive his blade any further into the flesh at her throat, everyone froze, as Ylsa's captor went stiff. Behind him, another man had drawn his blade across his neck, silencing the vile man. He fell away from Ylsa then, as she lurched away, a sob at the tip of her lips.

"You were foolhardy to prey upon the honored guests of House Martell," the new man spoke, his voice instantly setting Myrcella at ease as he stepped from the shadows. Ylsa looked at him, still terrified, not recognizing his face, though Myrcella obviously did. "Now I'll ask you once, to let the Princess go of your own free will, before I'm forced to retrieve her myself."

"You fucker!" the first man bellowed, enraged that some skinny imbicile had offed one of his comrades, and he lunged for him. But the smaller man easily dodged him, using his momentum against him, and pinned the large man against the alley wall, twisting his arm up behind his back. "No? Alright. Have it your way." His blade was suddenly thrust through the back of the larger man's throat, and he stepped away, flicking his blood from his knife as his victim slid to the ground, gurgling through his last breath. The third and final man tried to hurry off with Myrcella in his grasp, but was quickly thwarted; the mystery man, with utmost precision, threw his blade through the air, sinking it soundly into his skull. Myrcella stumbled away from him, running for Ylsa, crashing into her open arms.

"Are you alright!?" Myrcella sobbed, looking up through tear-heavy eyes at the small cut Ylsa bore on her neck. Ylsa just pressed her hand to her face, too upset to answer, the two of them halfway hysterical at the ordeal. The lone man left standing went to retrieve his dagger, wrenching it from his last victim's skull and drawing out a handkerchief to clean it of the attacker's blood. Then, turning towards the two girls, he smiled.

"You're unharmed, Princess?" he asked, and Ylsa looked up at him then, tensing once more, but Myrcella only nodded.

"They hurt Ylsa," she muttered, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. The man approached them, pulling an unsullied handkerchief from his sleeve.

"Let me see," he said, looking expectantly at Ylsa, who swallowed deeply.

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice wavering. The man chuckled, shaking his head.

"My apologies, Lady Payne. You must think me no better than those men, but I assure you I am no threat; I've come to rescue the two of you, and bring you back home." He dipped his head in a short bow. "My name is Oberyn Martell, pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Prince Oberyn," Ylsa parroted, as Myrcella drew away from her, to let Oberyn inspect Ylsa's cut. She stood in silent shock at who he was as he tipped her chin up with one hand, dabbing at the blood that welled at the corner of the thin injury with the handkerchief with the other.

"You two are lucky it is no worse than this," Oberyn said, straightening up. As he did so, several soldiers rushed into the alleyway with them, slower than Oberyn by a long shot. They seemed surprised to see him there. "You realize what a high target you are, Princess Myrcella? You put not just yourself in danger, but Lady Payne as well." His words were harsh, but his voice was soft, a gentle chiding as Myrcella teared up once more.

"I'm so sorry," she squeaked, covering her face with her hands. "I just wanted to see the bazaar! I didn't mean for…for any of this…"

"If I had not seen the two of you sneaking around the back entrances to the Palace, who knows what terrible things might've happened. We might never have seen you again, Princess. Lady Payne might've fared far worse."

"We came as soon as Septa Englantine reported the two of them missing, Prince Oberyn," one of the soldiers stated, stepping forward, and Oberyn chuckled darkly.

"And you likely would have come too late, had I not intervened when I did." The soldier bowed his head solemnly at this, but Oberyn was not mad. He merely regarded the girls with a cool head. "Come. I know the entire Palace is awaiting your safe return." He reached out to lay a hand on Myrcella's shoulder gently, motioning the two of them to follow the procession of soldiers back to the castle. He fell in line behind the two of them, who kept their heads bowed as they followed their guards.

"Thank you." Oberyn seemed surprised as Ylsa slowed to walk nearly beside him, glancing at the Prince shyly. "Please don't let Prince Doran be too upset with Myrcella. It was my fault, I should have been watching out for her-"

"Calm yourself, child," Oberyn chuckled. "My brother is not the type to punish curiosity, nor is he known for his cruelty. Besides. You two are not the first girls to be known to run off on your own and ditch your attendants. And Myrcella is almost a woman herself, the blame for the situation will not rest solely to you, nor her. After all, it was not either of you who chose to be cornered in that alleyway."

"But I should have stopped her from going. I shouldn't have gone along…."

"We all crave adventure, Lady Payne. Living within the confines of the Palace can get tiring, trust me, I am the last man in Dorne who would begrudge you a bit of freedom." He smiled warmly to her, his dark eyes twinkling slightly in amusement. "The two of you lack the street smarts to be left on your own though, so in the future, at least let a few guards know so they may keep an eye on you?"

"Of course!" Ylsa nodded quickly, which set Oberyn to laughing again; he had such a kind laugh, she thought.

* * *

"Princess!" Septa Englantine rushed towards Myrcella as the two of them were brought into the main foyer on the ground floor of the Palace. The woman's face was flushed from worry as she clutched at her ward, hugging her tightly, before stepping back and shaking her by the shoulders slightly. "Don't you ever do that again! We were worried sick, we didn't know what had happened to you!"

"I'm sorry," Myrcella apologized again, as her Septa gasped at the sight of her puffy and tear-streaked cheeks.

"What happened!?" she demanded, looking from the Princess to Ylsa, the both of them flushed a deep red with shame, as not only were their attendants and guards present, but the Prince and Trystane as well.

"A few bold men had it in their head that they would like to sell our little Lioness off for a ransom," Oberyn chuckled, waltzing in behind them, moving to stand beside his brother, who was sat on edge in his chair in front of the girls. "One of them got to Lady Payne before I could intervene, I'm afraid."

"What!?" The Prince looked from his brother to Ylsa quickly, and had half a mind to rise from his chair himself, his damn foot be damned! But Ylsa quickly shook her head, pressing her lips together in embarrassment as Marlyn tuttered up to her, fussing about her cut.

"It's nothing," she insisted, not meeting Doran's eyes. "It was my fault-"

"They've been dealt with?" He turned to Oberyn, eyebrows knitted together in a deep scowl over his dark green eyes. Oberyn nodded once.

"Oh yes, I took care of them."

"Good. Lady Payne, please." He held his hand out to Ylsa, trying to keep his gaze from being too severe, or his voice from showing his worry. Ylsa slowly complied, stepping towards him and laying her hand in his, to which he grasped with both his hands, rubbing his thumb over the top of hers. "If anything had happened to either of you-"

"I'm sorry, Prince Doran," Ylsa said quietly, looking away. Doran looked from her, to Myrcella, and sighed.

"Septa Englantine, I leave the Princess to you. Trystane." He glanced sideways at his son. "Why don't you go with Princess Myrcella and her consort. She looks like she could use someone to help dry her eyes."

"Of course," Trystane said, just a bit too happy to comply, rushing after them with his guard. Doran then turned to his brother, nodding once.

"Oberyn, thank you," he said, giving him a weighty look. The younger man just smiled, shrugging nonchalantly.

"My blade needed the practice," he said, somewhat flippantly, as he moved to exit the foyer. Doran watched him go before finally turning to Ylsa and her consort, glancing at Ellanna.

"Please prepare a hot bath for Lady Payne and dressings for her wound; she's had a long day."

"Of course," Ellanna said, bowing her head, recognizing that the Prince was dismissing everyone present in an effort to be left alone with Ylsa. Shooing a nervous Marlyn and an amused Telen away with her, Doran was finally left with just Ylsa and Areo, the latter of whom decided was a good time to proceed to have a 'coughing fit' and excuse himself to track down a drink of water. Finally the room fell silent, with Doran still clutching Ylsa's hand in his.

Ylsa stood awkwardly, both embarrassed and fidgety; here she was, with her betrothed whom she'd only just caused a mountain of trouble and worry, who she had only ever met with once, properly. What was she to say in this situation? Luckily, she needn't say anything yet, as Doran broke the silence.

"You are truly alright?" he asked her, squeezing her hand slightly. This small gesture caused her to glance at him finally, meeting his eyes, and once she did, she could not look away. "They didn't hurt you further? They didn't-"

"No, my Prince," Ylsa said, cutting him off as her blush flared back up. "I'm fine, truly."

"They shouldn't have touched you," he said solemnly, a somewhat unreadable expression on his face. It wasn't quite anger, it wasn't quite sadness. It was somewhere inbetween. Ylsa swallowed hard.

"They only held my arms, my Prince, and throat, that's all. Prince Oberyn intervened before they could disgrace you further-"

"This isn't about that!" His voice rose slightly as he cut her off, and her eyebrows flew up in surprise, just staring at him speechlessly. "Your body isn't mine to cause disgrace, I don't care about that! They shouldn't have touched you because you did not want it!" His stare was hard, but earnest, and he did not allow her gaze to break away, even for a second. She remained still, captivated by such a stare as he held her hand in his grasp.

"…Nothing happened," she reiterated, finally able to look away. "I'm sorry I caused you so much worry."

"Don't do it again, Ylsa." She flinched slightly, as he used her first name, but it wasn't unpleasant to hear him do so. "Please."

"I promise. I won't."


	6. Chapter Five - Inquiries and Engagements

"I thought you hated the Lannisters." Oberyn smirked up at Ellaria, leaning back against the cushions as she sat up, stretching languidly.

"Interesting topic for pillow talk," Oberyn remarked sarcastically, to which his paramour shot him an equally as sarcastic look. "If you're speaking of Myrcella and the gallant rescue of the Princess by the Prince's dashing younger brother-" at this the woman rolled her eyes, "then I'd say Myrcella is a Baratheon."

"Is she?" Ellaria fixed Oberyn with a deadpan stare, slowly quirking one of her eyebrows. The man burst into laughter at this, rolling out from under the covers to refill the empty glass at the bedside table from the decanter of wine by the window.

"In name only perhaps, but in nature, she likewise is surely no Lannister."

"She's insufferable."

"Come now!" Oberyn poured Ellaria a glass as well, striding over to hand it to her. "Drink. Your cynicism is showing, along with a far few other things. Just because our daughters don't get along with her doesn't mean she's insufferable. I might go as far as saying our daughters might be the least sufferable of the lot-"

"But they are good judges of character," Ellaria interjected, glaring at him over the rim of her wine glass.

"Our youngest is seven," Oberyn reminded her, keeping his jovial mood.

"And she still cannot stand the Lannister girl."

"Baratheon girl," Oberyn repeated, taking a long drink from his chalice. "You're in quite a sour mood given the circumstances, my love." She pursed her lips then, standing, retrieving her sheer wrap, tossing it around her shoulders and stepping out onto the balcony in the moonlight in nothing else. Oberyn watched her walk away (he did like to watch her walk away) before standing to follow. She tried to shrug him off as he came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Have I displeased you, Ellaria?"

"Not you," she answered shortly, crossing her arms, looking away as he leaned his chin on one of her shoulders. "I am displeased to have that girl here. Hosting a Lannister is an invitation for conflict."

"But she is a joy," Oberyn laughed, fond of the girl in spite of all his misgivings. "Nothing like the rest of the cunts in her family-"

"A joy?" she asked incredulously, glancing at him briefly. "You had to chase after her this afternoon and rescue her! Her, and that Payne girl. There's too many of them!" She tried to throw Oberyn's hands off of her and pace, but her paramour caught her, trapping her inbetween his arms as he leaned his hands on the railing behind her. "If Doran wanted them here so badly he should make sure they aren't an imposition on us!"

"It was not an imposition to keep two young women from meeting an unfortunate end, my love." His words were stern, yet his face still held that easy smile; Oberyn was not one to be serious too easily. Ellaria was, though.

"Are you forgetting the end your sister met at the hands of Tywin Lannister, your beloved Myrcella's grandfather? Did anyone rescue Elia?" She nearly spit venom with those words, her lip pulling up on one side in a sneer. At this, Oberyn's mask did begin to crack, ever so slightly.

"I will never forget," Oberyn assured her, stepping away, finally letting her free, but not lifting his gaze from her face. "Would you have me punish two girls who had hardly been born when my family was broken, just for the sake of revenge?"

"Shouldn't someone pay?" There was a long stretch of silence between the two, before Oberyn's face softened once again, and he sighed.

"Have you looked at the way my brother and nephew lay eyes on those girls?" He chuckled slightly. "Trystane acts as if he's never met a more beautiful girl in all the world. And Doran…." He paused then. He hadn't wanted to give it much thought. He would have preferred to keep believing his brother was only keen to share a bed with a young Northerner, and that was it, but Oberyn was neither dumb nor blind. "…He looks at her as if she were the most fragile of flowers. Do you think I want to hurt my brother and his son, Ellaria? How do you think Doran would react if I were to have brought him a couple of corpses? He was livid at Lady Payne's meager cut alone-"

"He would get over it, they've hardly spoken." Ellaria dismissed the issue, rolling her eyes but Oberyn shook his head.

"That isn't Doran's way. Whether or not love factors into the equation is irrelevant, Doran feels such immense responsibility for those in his care. For Dorne, for us, and now for her. I didn't want to see two innocent girls hurt, but even if I had I wouldn't have let it happen." Ellaria fixed him with the most indignant stare she could muster, pissed that Oberyn was taking sides against her on this issue. "And I won't, not while I'm alive."

* * *

Ylsa was a bit shocked to find the man stationed outside her quarters, and as the man turned a kindly smile to her, her face lit up pink and she felt rather caught off guard.

"Lady Payne," he greeted, dipping his head slightly to her. Her mouth hung open for a minute as she processed what this man's presence here meant.

"You're…the Prince's Captain of the guard," was what Ylsa came up with finally, looking him up and down. "Has Prince Doran called for me?"

"Areo Hotah," the man introduced himself properly, his kind dark eyes amused at her flustered nature. "And no, My Lady. Prince Doran has asked that I keep you safe, personally. Seeing at Prince Oberyn is not available for guard duty." His voice was deep and not unkind, just the tone and timbre alone making Ylsa feel….more secure? It was certainly a comforting sort of voice. Never the less, it was still an embarrassing situation; the Prince, assigning his Captain to watch over her to keep her from running amuck again. It made her feel quite childish.

"I won't ever do anything like that again," she assured him, humiliated still from the previous day's 'excitement', but all Areo did was chuckle, shaking his head.

"My purpose isn't to keep you locked up. You're not a prisoner of House Martell, My Lady; you're a future member of it. But," Ylsa noticed his eyes squinted when he smiled, his cheeks pushing them up so they almost looked closed, "when you do regain your confidence and venture back out of the Palace walls, I'll be there to make sure the rest of Dorne understands just how protected and cherished you are by the Prince." This only caused Ylsa greater distress, as she turned away then, covering her face. She wanted to disappear.

"Father told me not to embarrass the name of Payne when I got here," she lamented, more to herself than to Areo, but he let out a loud, booming laugh then, reaching out and laying a hand on Ylsa's shoulder, unaffected by her heavy flinch.

"Child, you've embarrassed no one! Come now, who hasn't gotten themselves in a bit of trouble before? Life's no fun without adventure."

"But I'm a lady," Ylsa pointed out, peeking back at him through her fingers.

"So?"

"Ladies aren't supposed to have adventures…"

"And who says? Your father?" He fixed her with a knowing look, and all she did was shrug; her father, and just about every other man she'd ever met and been taught by in her life. "Perhaps that is the Northern way, Lady Payne. But in Dorne, things are different."

"So I've been seeing." Letting her hands slip from her face, she crossed them before herself, still feeling vaguely uncomfortable in her seafoam sheer gown. She let out a sigh, before looking at him once more. "He's not mad at me, is he?"

"Doran? You tell me, you were the last one he spoke to last night."

"He said he was sorry it had happened," she recounted, shrugging slightly. "Although I felt sort of like he was taking the words out of my mouth. But he didn't say too much more, and he didn't SEEM angry," she paused, pursing her lips. "But I can't read him very well. I don't really know what he was thinking."

"You'll find that's a common theme with Doran." Ylsa shuffled awkwardly as they stood outside her door, before the larger man motioned for her to continue on. "You were headed somewhere, My Lady?"

"Oh, I, uh….I was going to find Prince Oberyn," she admitted, looking rather bashful. "To apologize for causing him any trouble."

"Trust me, Oberyn relishes playing the hero," Areo chuckled, following alongside Ylsa as the two of them slowly made their way through the Palace. "But, in any case, Oberyn has left the palace early this morning with Lady Ellaria. He won't be back I assume until evening." Ylsa pursed her lips at that, pausing by an openface window, glancing at the colorful songbirds perched on the window outside.

"Oh. Well…..then I suppose I'd just like to look around the palace then," she said, resuming her pace. "I haven't really gotten the chance yet." Areo nodded once, staying quiet, and as they continued on, Ylsa grew a bit restless in the silence. She kept taking sidelong glances at him, and before too long, she was just bursting with the unvoiced questions on the tip of her tongue, and Areo could tell she was dying to speak.

"Speak up, child. You look like you're about to burst!"

"Er…." Ylsa deflated at that, red in the face at being so damn obvious about her inquisitiveness. Swallowing her habitual awkwardness, she tucked a few strands of loose hair behind her ear. "I…I wanted to ask you….you've been the Captain of Prince Doran's guard for a while, right?"

"Surely I have, My Lady."

"Do you mind if…if I ask you some questions about him?" Areo wondered when she'd finally start asking the real questions. He'd guessed she'd want to know as much, she was just so bashful about it! It was such a foreign way to be, the Dornishmen were never tight-lipped with anything. It was almost charming, in a silly way.

"Ask away," he said, that reassuring eye-squinting smile again.

"I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth," she assured him, fiddling her fingers, "but, I have to wonder….why would Prince Doran accept my father's offer? I'm just a Payne…..why would the Prince of Dorne accept such a lowly proposal?" Her question was in earnest, she was honestly curious, as this thought had been plaguing her mind for months, ever since her father had announced the betrothal. "Especially since Prince Trystane is marrying the Princess…"

"Has anyone ever told you that Tywin Lannister once wanted to marry his daughter Cersei to Doran at one point?" Areo chuckled at the slightly perturbed look Ylsa wore at that, continuing on. "It's true. But Doran had found himself in love with an Essosi woman; Mellario of Norvos. Doran was a young man, more like Oberyn then than he is now. And..he's Dornish, what can I say?" He shrugged." "Dorne doesn't much care for the traditions of Westeros, so while another Noble House's heir might've shirked love for duty, Doran was not the type to do so."

"I didn't know that….I knew he was married once before, but…." She stopped herself there, realizing her ignorance of Doran, and by extention Dorne's royal history made her seem uneducated. "Er…."

"I imagine Dornish history, even modern history isn't the first subject taught where you're from," Areo said, reassuring her. "But Doran has never been one to do anything he doesn't want to do. If he gets an idea in his head….well…." He glanced at Ylsa; even to Areo, one of Doran's closest friends and his valued guard, his reasoning was still foggy. "I can't give you a clear answer, child. Only Doran truly knows. But he's also not the type to make decisions flagrantly. He broke Westerosi tradition by marrying Mellario all those years ago, but he knew what he was doing. He put countless hours of thought into his decision. The Prince is stubborn, but not impulsive." The two of them had made their way down to the main courtyard; a large white marble fountain took up the center of the yard, while neatly manicured flower bushes and trees lined the sides. Straight across from them was an open archway into the West wing of the palace. Ylsa took a deep breath as she stepped out into the morning sun, for once not feeling so insufferably hot, but merely pleasantly warm. Areo watched her with an amused smile. "….You might ask him yourself, My Lady."

"What?" Turning then, Ylsa nearly laughed; ask Doran herself? What a ridiculous proposal! How would she ever have the guts to say more than a handful of words to him, let alone ask him such a heavy question? "I don't think I could! I hardly say anything when I'm around him."

"That won't do." Striding past her, Areo reached to pluck a flower from it's vine; it looked like some sort of lily, but the only lilies in the Westerlands were pure white; this one was as orange as a sunset. Turning to Ylsa, the man tucked the flower gently behind one of her ears. "He's going to be your husband! The two of you will need to talk eventually!"

"Father says husbands and wives don't really need to speak much more than to discuss baby names," she replied, laughing a bit at it, as the guard just shook his head, clucking his tongue.

"Maybe in the North. Doran cares more for conversation." Ylsa's half-hearted laughter died away, and she awkwardly avoided her guard's eyes. Looking around quickly, she hustled over to the fountain, sitting on the polished marble rim, looking into the water. Areo followed leisurely after her, sitting beside her.

"I don't have anything interesting to say to someone like him," she admitted, pressing her lips together into a thin line. "We're not going to be a very good match, I think…."

"I think you may be putting the horse before the cart, Lady Payne. How much do you know of Prince Doran yet?" His question was not accusatory, but she still felt a bit embarrassed by it.

"Not much," she relented.

"Then how can you be sure you wouldn't be a good match?"

"I'm so….plain." She shrugged. "He's so storied. Interesting. The only stories I have are of when I found a cat in the cellar and nursed it back to health. And besides….I'm not of a Noble House. Paynes are vassals."

"The Prince doesn't really care for titles anyway. And I know Doran better than anyone else. He'd listen to your stories as if they were the most interesting thing he'd ever heard. Give the Prince some credit, My Lady." Standing, just as a servant approached the two of them, handing Areo a message. "Speak of the devil," he chuckled, skimming over the message. "He's called for you."

"Doran?" Ylsa was on her feet immediately, fretting over her state of attire; her hair was down in her fashion from her home, and…she was a bit embarrassed to admit it, but walking around the bazaar all of yesterday had given her blisters on the back of her ankles, where the silken slippers hit her skin. She was so used to boots, that having a shoe so short was dreadfully uncommon for her, and as a result, had decided to go barefoot this morning to alleviate the pain. She hadn't thought she'd be seeing Prince Doran! And her dress reached the ground, so he likely wouldn't see her bare feet but…still! "Now? I should get ready-"

"You look lovely as you are," Areo assured her, offering her his arm, which she was hesitant to take. "Doran isn't some finicky King. He won't care if you aren't powdered and primped like they have them in King's Landing."

"…..I'm not wearing shoes," Ylsa admitted, listing her skirts just enough to reveal her bare feet, and Areo suddenly let out a boom of laughter, surprised but delighted by her hilarious secret.

"You're delightful, Lady Payne," he said, wiping his eyes as she looked on indignantly, finally accepting his arm, biting back a pout. "Prince Doran will be just as amused!"

"Don't tell him," she said, worrying her eyebrows together, eliciting more laughter. "It's not funny! What if he's offended?"

"Oh you have so much to learn about living in Dorne," he said as they made their way into the Northern wing of the palace.

* * *

"Lady Payne." Doran looked up as Areo announced Ylsa's arrival. Doran was seated in a highbacked armchair, looking over various correspondences as the two guests entered his study. Smiling as Ylsa formally curtsied. Motioning for her to take a seat on the settee adjacent to his chair, she obliged, as Areo nodded slightly, and exited to take up post outside the door. Setting the raven scrolls aside, he regarded his betrothed with a curious eye. "How are you this morning, Lady Payne?"

"I'm doing well," she answered, shifting a bit, getting comfortable. "Thank you."

"And your neck?" He motioned towards the minor cut she sported, but she just shook her head, smiling slightly.

"It's nothing, I assure you, my Prince."

"I told you, just Doran is fine," he reminded her, not unkindly. "I feel like hardly anyone regards me formally anymore, and I prefer it that way."

"Forgive me, it'll take getting used to," she admitted, shrugging and looking away. "The only person I've ever been truly informal with was my mother, it's just not how I was raised."

"…That's understandable." Doran sat back in his chair, leaning his chin in one hand as his elbow leaned on the armrest. "I can't ask you to change your ways overnight. But I will keep reminding you. There's no need to be formal with me."

"You call me Lady Payne," Ylsa pointed out, and immediately mentally chastised herself; what a snarky thing to say! She hadn't meant to be snarky! There she went again, her and her smart mouth! But Doran didn't react to it disfavorably, in fact, he smirked.

"Only because I am at a much higher risk of offending you than you are of offending me," he pointed out. "If you'd rather I call you Ylsa, I will." Ylsa had to admit, her name in his accent did sound rather nice…. She shrugged ambivalently.

"I have no preference," she said, still not meeting his intense gaze. "You can call me whatever you like, you're the Prince."

"I won't ever call you anything that makes you uncomfortable. ….Likewise, I'll never do anything that makes you uncomfortable." She seemed flustered at that statement. "It is your life, Lady Ylsa. You get to dictate what you want said and done to you." She left that statement hanging in the air for a bit, not quite knowing how to respond. That wasn't exactly a sentiment she was all that familiar with; all her life she'd been given directions and commands, and she just obeyed. Being given free reign with a statement like that was….a bit overwhelming.

"That's kind of you, Your- ….Prince Doran." She nodded slightly, looking up then. "I'm not very used to hearing things like that."

"Then I'm glad I can acclimate you to a life more to your liking. Everything IS to your liking, isn't it?" One side of his mouth quirked up into a smile as she finally met his eyes, keeping her gaze captive. "If anything, anything at all displeases you, please, tell me."

"No, of course not! Everything is wonderful!" She found herself unable to look away from him as he gazed at her, it gave her a weird feeling in her gut; not a bad feeling, just unusual. She'd never met a man who looked at her so brazenly. So intensely. It was a bit chilling, it sent a shiver up her spine. "…but thank you for asking."

"Of course." He nodded decisively. "I want you to always feel safe coming to me with your concerns and desires. I want you to be happy here, Lady Ylsa."

"I am!" she said, almost a bit indignantly. "I am happy! Truly, Prince Doran."

"Good." He finally broke their stare, to glance out the window briefly. "…I wanted to mention. I'll be visiting the Water Garden at week's end. In a normal circumstance, Prince Oberyn, Lady Ellaria, Trystane and Princess Myrcella would be joining me as well, but Oberyn and Ellaria must prepare for a voyage to the North in my stead, and Princess Myrcella's Septa has 'insisted' the Princess remain at the palace." He chuckled slightly, closing his eyes briefly. "That woman scares me sometimes….in any case, I wanted to ask you if you'd like to accompany me? If you've never seen the Water Gardens, they are a sight to behold." Looking to his betrothed, Ylsa thought she saw one of his eyebrows quirk up ever so slightly. "Of course, if you'd rather stay, I would not take offense."

"…I've only ever heard stories of the Water Gardens," Ylsa admitted, remembering a nearly-forgotten memory of her mother describing what the Garden supposedly looked like to her when she was quite small. "I would love to see it…thank you. …My handmaidens can come with me, right?"

"Of course! Anything for you, Lady Ylsa." Smiling kindly, he clapped his hands together once. "Then it's settled." His mood seemed to lift that that, and his face seemed a bit brighter, less broody. Ylsa realized that…perhaps he'd been worried she'd say no? That thought gave her the weird feeling in her gut again. But she didn't dislike the feeling. She nodded happily, realizing for once she wasn't twiddling her fingers or shuffling her feet. Sitting there with Doran, she realized for the first time around him, she wasn't nervous.

She hoped there were more moments like this between them in the future.


	7. Chapter Six - The Water Gardens

Ylsa watched as Telen and Marlyn packed her things; she'd been relegated to the window seat after she'd tried to help and been turned away. She hated sitting idle, she'd never been told not to help with preparations before; back home in the Westerlands, she'd frequently been relegated to help the servants by her step-mother. Being waited on like this was so strange, she doubted she'd ever get used to it.

"I don't need so many dresses," she tried to protest, as Telen folded yet another into the trunk. "I can wash and rewear them, I don't need 20…."

"Well, why not bring them?" she countered, the white cotton dress she had in her arms being neatly folded into squares and tucked in with the others. "You won't need to carry any of this, that'll be the soldier's jobs. Might as well bring all you can."

"We'll only be at the Water Garden for a month."

"And in that month, Prince Doran will see you each and every day," Ellanna put in, emerging from the other room, her arms full of various other items to pack. "You may as well look more stunning each time he sees you."

"I don't much see the point," Ylsa mumbled, but it was no use, more and more things she knew she wouldn't need were packed into her trunks and she was powerless to stop it. That is, until Marlyn moved to slide the undecorated trunk from under her bed.

"And this one, My Lady?" she asked, surprised to see Ylsa leap up, shooing her away from it.

"No, no, don't take anything out of this one!" she said, a bit panicked. Standing in front of it, as if to shield it, she was quite flustered as all three women stopped what they were doing to look at her quizzically. "I-I mean….this one is special. I don't want anyone opening it up."

"Why, you have a dead body in there?" Telen snickered, before Ellanna elbowed her ribs suddenly.

"No it's….it's some of my mother's possessions," Ylsa admitted, checking to make sure the latch on the trunk was still firmly locked. Telen quieted down at that, looking suddenly sullen, if only slightly. "I just don't want anything sullied or lost….this is all I have left of her…." Shooting Telen a stern look, Ellanna cleared her throat, softening her gaze towards Ylsa.

"We don't have to repack it in another trunk, but would you like to take it with us? Just so you have it with you at all times?" she asked. Ylsa glanced down at the beat up old trunk wearily; she was sure it would survive the trip, but she was still worried. But, Ellanna had a point. She'd be worried about it being rifled through or stolen if she left it behind. She slowly nodded.

"If it's not too much trouble," she answered, shrugging. Ellanna laughed, approaching her and setting a hand on her shoulder kindly.

"Of course it's not! You act as if you're such an imposition." As Ylsa stepped away from the trunk, Ellanna bent to pick it up by the side handles; it wasn't an overly large trunk, but it was heavy enough that Ylsa had never been able to drag it around by herself. But as she watched the older woman carry it over to the others and set it down, Ylsa realized Ellanna was far stronger than she looked.

'Dornish women really do do whatever they like,' she thought to herself, slowly going back to fretting as Telen kept pulling more dresses out of the wardrobe and packing them.

It certainly felt like the better part of forever, watching others do her packing for her, but it was really only the better part of the early morning, and by the time the four of them, Ylsa, Marlyn, Telen and Ellanna all made their way down to the main foyer, escorted by Areo and a few other guards, the sun was still hardly risen over the horizon.

"Lady Ylsa." Prince Doran, against the better judgement of his guards, stood as Ylsa approached with her retinue, though he leaned on the high back of his chair as he did. He tended to resent the way he was treated, like a little old invalid man, just because of a little flare up of gout, of all things! Areo knew better than to insist otherwise, so as he accompanied Lady Payne to the foyer, all he did was sigh heavily as he watched the Prince rise.

"Prince, Doran," she greeted him politely, eyeing him up and down. "…Forgive me, my Prince, but….should you be standing?" She felt a little out of her place asking, but until now, she hadn't really seen him rise of his own volition. Just be wheeled around in that chair; she'd known he'd had an affliction of the foot, the 'Rich Man's Disease' as it was called in the west, but she'd been under the impression that he really couldn't stand on his own…? Her footsteps sped up just slightly, feeling a little nervous that he might be about to pitch forward due to some unbalance or something. But Doran let out an amused chuckle, shaking his head.

"Don't tell me they've got you thinking I'm some helpless little man, too?" he asked good-naturedly, and although Ylsa's face flared red at the gentle chide, she smiled back, for once taking his gentle barbs as a joke, and not a criticism. She was so unused to the former, and so used to the latter, after all. "I can walk, trust me. I won't fall over like some wizened little miser."

"Do you intend to walk all the way to the Water Garden, then?" Ylsa asked, her sudden sarcasm slipping out before she could stop it. She froze then, chest tightening up slightly as Doran just stared at her, but almost simultaneously, the two of them burst out laughing; Doran for the fact that he would never have guessed this quaking little flower of a girl could have a witty tongue, and Ylsa because….well, she didn't quite know why. Perhaps it was just that Doran's laugh was so infectious.

"Shall we try?" he asked, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye as Ylsa closed the distance between them to stand beside him.

"Probably better not to," she admitted, watching horse-pulled carts bearing the company's packed trunks pull away from the main road out in front of the palace; they'd arrive way before the rest of the company, ready to be unpacked for when the Prince and the rest finally did arrive.

"You're most likely right, if I tried, it'd be a three-day trip as the entire retinue waited for me to catch up each time I lagged behind, instead of half a day." He smiled down at her, for once, and Ylsa suddenly realized; Doran was not all that much taller than her. It was pretty difficult to judge height when one person was always seated, but she'd assumed Doran would be at least as tall as Oberyn, or even taller. But he looked to be shorter; perhaps only 5'8 or 9 at most. Ylsa herself only stood a few inches shorter. "So, we'd better ride." As Doran nodded to a few guards, Ylsa suddenly felt a little nervous; ride, as in, horses? Could Prince Doran ride Horses in his condition? And more importantly….could Ylsa?

"Er…..I have to admit, my Prince….I don't have much experience riding horses. …Or any." Ylsa had never ridden, her Father had always said it was too dangerous for a little girl, and by the time he'd deemed her old enough, she just hadn't ever had much time to herself, her step-mother liked to run her ragged. Ylsa liked the idea of learning to ride, but in truth, she doubted if she'd ever learn at this point, and was a bit fearful of the prospect of a half-day's ride when she had no practice whatsoever. But Doran just shook his head, motioning her to follow him out of the foyer and to the main steps outside as Areo moved to wheel him along.

"In this heat, I'm afraid your fair skin would burn to a crisp on horseback through midday; I've arranged for a transport more suited to our individual handicaps." Ylsa let out an imperceptible sigh of relief as they were shown to an open-paneled carriage. She hadn't planned on making a complete fool of herself today, and she was glad she wouldn't have to. Areo and Ylsa held out an arm for the Prince to take at the same time as he rode again at the top of the main stairs, and the man just smiled at Areo, taking Ylsa's arm instead. "Thank you," he said, trying not to lean as heavily on her as he would have normally while she helped him down the stairs.

"Of course, Prince Doran," she replied, a little unsure how to best help him, but he was such a good sport about it. They only stumbled once, and Ylsa managed to keep them both from rolling down the stairs to the foot of the carriage, so she considered that a success. But Areo was waiting to help the both of them step up into the carriage, whose open sided windows were draped with fabric the same sheerness as was most fabric in Dorne, Ylsa thought. She understood, it was hot, but did everything have to be so light and see through? As Doran sat back in the cushioned bench across from Ylsa, he sighed, pleasantly shaded from the harsh rising sun by the covered canopy of the carriage.

"Truth be told, I've never been a big fan of horseback riding either," he said, smiling at his bride to be. "Horses and I….we don't seem to get along."

"I've never learned," Ylsa said, shrugging slightly, a bit startled as the carriage lurched forward as they began to move. "And now, I'd be a little….intimidated to."

"I'd say I would teach you, but I'm not the most qualified teacher. Besides, if there's one good thing about gout, it's that I have a pretty good excuse to not ride horses again." He winked at her at this, and Ylsa tried to hide an amused smile; she probably shouldn't laugh at that, but it was a ridiculous notion. But Doran wasn't offended, in fact, he couldn't keep the smile off his own face. Ylsa was so shy, that now that she was starting to warm up and smile more around him, he could hardly keep his eyes off her. She really was lovely.

"I'd rather take a carriage," Ylsa admitted, glancing out of the window as they made their way through the streets of Sunspear. "Or walk, even if it did take us three days."

"Hah, now that's saying something!" If there was any one striking feature about Doran, it was that smile of his. It was such an easy, comforting smile, not the strained, forced smiles Ylsa was so used to. She had begun to notice it everywhere in Dorne, but on Doran, it felt a little…deeper. It was his eyes, she realized, averting her own when she realized she'd been staring for just a bit too long at him. He always looked as if he were deep in thought with those eyes. Like there was so much going on behind that easy smile.

The two of them fell into a comfortable silence as they rode on, Ylsa watching as the city was left behind them, farther and farther, until the palace itself looked like a speck on the horizon. Bumping along the coastal road, high beach grass sprung up all around them with the occasional spindly, stunted tree, the only sounds came from the horses occasional whiny, their hooves, and the gulls and bugs that flitted about in the heavy morning breeze. Even the temperature wasn't yet too warm, pleasant yet arid, and with the gentle rock of the carriage coupled with how early Ylsa had arisen to pack, everything came together in a perfect storm to lull her off to a light sleep as they rode along.

As she dozed, Doran's smile quirked up at one corner. She was leaning her cheek in one hand as her elbow rested on the sill of the open sided window, her lips pursed slightly and her eyelashes resting against her cheeks. Doran wasn't the type to feel abashed by staring, though out of courtesy to Ylsa, whom he knew was a bit uncomfortable with it, he usually kept his glances short. But now that he could take in the sight of her freely, he thought to himself that he rather liked the way she looked like this. Her hair was down loose by her shoulders again, just enough curl to it to bounce and sway with the motion of the carriage, and the way she was draped in sleep in the seat across from him struck him as almost portrait-like.

'If I were a painter,' he thought, 'she would make such a lovely subject.' He had always envied artistic men, now more so than ever. What a muse this girl was.

* * *

"Lady Ylsa?" Ylsa jerked awake as a hand was set lightly on her shoulder, eyes startling open. She blinked several times, her vision unblurring slowly, and just as she realized it was Prince Doran who had shaken her awake with an amused chuckle, her cheeks flared up pink, feeling flustered at being caught dozing off.

"Oh!" she squeaked, in her sudden shock and embarrassment, standing up suddenly, but forgetting where she was; her head collided painfully with the top of the carriage, and she fell back down into her seat, wincing heavily as she held her head. "Ah! ….Owww…" Doran hadn't meant to, but as she bumped her head and fell back, a sudden laugh burst forth, which he quickly stifled, getting up from his seat (with a little difficulty) and switching to sit beside Ylsa as she covered her face in one hand, turning away.

"Ylsa, are you alright?" he asked, setting his hand on her shoulder once more, still highly amused but putting on a serious face; it was rude enough that he'd laughed!

"I'm sorry!" she apologized, but even in her embarrassment, Doran thought he heard a slight edge of laughter in her voice. "Oh….gosh I shouldn't have fallen asleep, and now….I'm a mess today…."

"Please, think nothing of it, I would have fallen asleep as well if we weren't already here!" Just as he said this, the carriage came to a halt, and peeking an eye open and through her fingers, Ylsa saw that they had been delivered to the front gates of the Water Garden. "How is your head, you didn't hit it too hard, did you?"

"Ah….no, no, it's….mostly my pride that's been bruised," she admitted, smiling sheepishly as she let her hand drop from her face. The gates were opened then, and the carriage moved once more, to bring them right into the main courtyard. Inside the walls, Ylsa could see the servants and soldiers taking in the last of the luggage, that had arrived much before Doran and her.

"I figured," Doran replied, relieved. "I shouldn't have laughed, I'm sorry, My Lady. You just surprised me, that was all!"

"I would have laughed too," Ylsa said, shrugging her shoulders, glancing at the hand the Prince kept there. "Not at you, I mean, at me!"

"Laugh at me whenever you wish, Lady Ylsa," he assured her, as the carriage once again halted, and Areo seemed to appear out of thin air outside the carriage to help Doran into his chair in the courtyard. "But come now, I'm sure you're feeling rather stiff from sleeping upright, you must be dying to stretch properly outside this damn carriage." Following him out of the carriage and out onto the lawn, Ylsa was surprised at how green the palace here seemed. The walls were cloaked in ivies of varying breeds, most sporting blooms this time of year, though underneath it wasn't merely sandstone walls. As Areo wheeled Doran through the arched entryway and into the open foyer corridor, Ylsa followed, noticing the colored tiles set into the stonework of the walls; had the ivy not been present, she would have been greeted by a finely made mother-of-pearl mosaic. And the interior walls likewise were as finely set and crafted. The ivy hanging down over the windows shaded the interior corridors more than at the palace at Sunspear, so the air inside was much cooler than she expected.

Doran noticed Ylsa's eye caught on the details of the stonework as they made their way through the palace, and he chuckled.

"Wait until you see the inner courtyards," he mused, smiling up at her.

"Courtyards is probably not the best work to describe it," Areo put in, and the two men shared a laugh that Ylsa wasn't privy to, though it wasn't long before they came upon exactly what they'd been referring to. As they crossed the vast property, coming upon a wide balcony, Ylsa realized the palace here was built into the hillside, and below stretched the inner courtyards. Oh, and what a beautiful property it was; long, tiled pools of lilied water flowed from fountains set into the ground, long rectangles that stretched inbetween the high-growing hedges and vined trellises. Farther on much higher hedges grew; a maze of them, she realized, looking down on them, and on and on the garden swept, more greenery and flowers and burbling pools of sparkling blue water than she would have thought would be brought together in one big collection. It was beautiful, more so than she'd been expecting!

Doran watched as the surprised smile spread across her features, her eyes shining brighter than sapphires as she took in the sight. Her hands had been clasped together in front of her, but as she glanced down at her betrothed, she reached out, grabbing his upper arm for a moment, as if excitedly turning to show him exactly what she was seeing, but she realized he knew exactly what this place looked like; he'd grown up here, after all. Taking her hand away quickly, she turned back to the balcony view, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"It's beautiful," she said, sighing as she spoke, reaching out to lean over the railing slightly. "I can't believe I'm really seeing the famous Water Gardens…"

"See them, play in them, swim in them," Doran listed off, remembering running through the aisles the vined trellises made as kids, running after his siblings. But Ylsa just laughed as if he were making a joke, smoothing out the crepe skirts of her soft bronze gauzy gown.

"Oh, I'm too old to play in them," she said, shaking her head, her soft brunette curls swinging at her shoulders. "But I would love to walk through them."

"You're never too old to play," Doran said, amused at her attempts to appear like a sophisticated woman; it was no doubt a trait ingrained in men and women alike up North. In Dorne, it was not such a crime to remain a bit of whimsy.

"What games would I play?" she asked incredulously, her laugh like a bashful chime, just scarcely louder than a whisper on the wind. "I don't even know any games."

"Maybe I'll teach you some of mine," Doran said, and then he did a peculiar thing. Reaching for her hand, he took it gently, but that wasn't so much weird as it was flustering. But as Ylsa bashfully glanced at him, her raised his eyebrows at her, and then winked quickly. Then, without any more warning, he turned to Areo, clearing his throat. "Let's go down to the inner courtyards, shall we?" he said, nodding as Areo started to push him back down the corridor, Ylsa in quick tow, her hand still in Doran's. She was led down a peculiar little ramp; it was newly carved sandstone, which she realized must have only been carved recently, for Doran's wheeled chair to go up and down the stairs that no doubt used to stand in their place. Areo was not exchanging knowing glances with Doran, so Ylsa got the feeling that whatever the Prince was thinking, the thought was not shared with his Captain.

"Oh…" As soon as the passed through a high arched entry into the ground level gardens, Doran began to pat at his jacket pockets, seemingly looking for something. "Damn. I can't find my watch. I know I had it with me when we arrived….You saw me check it when I got off the carriage, didn't you Areo?"

"You did," the Captain said, seeming surprised that the Prince was without the watch. "Maybe you dropped it?"

"If I did it was an accident; would you go back up and see if it's on the ground anywhere?" Ylsa glanced back the way they had come as Areo nodded, moving away to retrace their steps, and look for the golden trinket. As soon as he rounded the corner and was out of sight, Doran glanced back at Ylsa.

"Perhaps it's in a pocket you haven't checked?" Ylsa offered, trying to be helpful, and Doran just chuckled, motioning for her to bend closer. As she did, he spoke quietly.

"I dropped it," he said, a mischievous look in his eye, and when she leaned back to glance at him quizzically, he pointed upwards. Craning her neck back to see what he was pointing at, she noticed they were directly below the balcony they had been at not moments before. "I dropped it there, before we started coming down here."

"Why?" she asked, confused, as he'd seemed genuinely upset at it's loss; why had he purposefully left it, only to have to send Areo back for it? But as soon as Doran saw Areo appear on the balcony, he snatched Ylsa's hand once more, and turning the wheels of his chair manually, he pulled her along as they ducked into the aisles of hedges and flowers, just slow enough for Areo to see them. "Doran, what are we doing?" Despite her confusion, Ylsa still laughed, utterly amused and mystified by the Prince's strange behavior.

"We're playing my favorite game from when I was younger," he said, and Ylsa realized this man was far more nimble in this chair than she'd previously assumed; she had to keep a decent trot to keep up with him as he pushed the wheels forward on his arm strength alone.

"Tag?" she asked incredulously, giggling when the other grinned at her.

"Doran!" Areo called to them as they turned a corner, not angry, more exasperated than anything, and the two of them broke into laughter as the Captain started back down towards the gardens, and at the thought of truly being chased, Ylsa let out a laugh that was a bit more akin to a shriek, something she hadn't done since she was a child!

"I hope I'm not being too presumptuous," Doran said, pulling on Ylsa's hand, spinning her around front of him, only to pull her into his lap. "But I think we'll have an easier time avoiding him if we're moving at the same speed, no?" Under any other circumstances, Ylsa would have been a terrible stuttering mess at this; how improper, to sit in a man's lap! But currently, all she could think was 'this makes perfect sense!' and just nodded, grinning as she wrapped an arm around Doran's shoulders to keep from falling as they took another corner, Doran just surprisingly adept at maneuvering this chair as well as he was!

Areo couldn't run as fast as Doran could push the wheels of the chair, and especially in places where he went rolling downhill, but it wasn't hard to keep track of the two as they played the most childish game of tag with the Captain of the Guard; their laughter was unmistakable, and incredibly infectious; Areo couldn't help but laugh along every time he heard "No, no, turn Doran, look out!" followed by the sounds of a hedge being hit and jostled, and more laughing.

Ylsa let out a bubble of laughter as one of her slippers came off as her legs dangled off one side of Doran's lap, the silky shoe fluttering to the ground, left in the dust behind them.

"I'll buy you another," Doran promised, hanging another hard turn, downhill again this time, letting the forward momentum carry them without having to push the wheels forward. But as they picked up speed, Ylsa holding onto him by the shoulders, he realized he wasn't exactly where he thought they were in the garden; ahead of them, right beyond the hedge aisle they were sailing through now was a rectangular pool of water he hadn't thought would be there, and he realized in such a narrow aisle, there was no room to turn sideways to halt their forward movement, and even as he tried to grab the wheels to keep them from careening towards the water, he couldn't stop them, not in time.

"Doran!" Ylsa gasped, realizing just a little too late that they were going too fast to stop in time. "The water, the water! Doran, turn!"

"I can't-" he managed to say, just before jerking the chair sideways, only for the forward momentum they carried to cause the chair to tip sideways, just as they came right up to the edge of the pool.

"No, no, no!-" Ylsa cried, grabbing onto Doran, as if that could save her; they were both thrown from the chair into the water with a splash, the impact greatly disoriented. Doran was able to get his bearings quickly, but as he surfaced, sputtering slightly, he realized Ylsa was not so quick. Ducking his head back under the surface, he realized Ylsa was pretty much lost in a cloud of her own gauzy dress under the water, desperately trying to snatch the material away from her face to see which way was up. Her eyes were squeezed shut under the water, and as Doran reached for her outstretched hand, her mouth opened, nothing but a cloud of bubbles coming out.

Yanking her up, her head broke the surface as she gasped for hair, hair in her face, reaching for Doran in her disorientation. Doran wrapped an arm around her as she clung to him, sputtering up a lungful of water as he held onto the side of the pool with one arm. He was coughing up a few breaths worth of water as well, and as Ylsa calmed down in his arms, still holding onto him for the life of her, hair covering her face, her shoulders began to shake slightly. At first, Doran thought she was crying, and immediately he felt terrible; she'd told him she was too old for shit like this, and he'd basically forced her! He was about to start apologizing, just as soon as he found his voice again, but before he could, he realized; she wasn't crying, she was laughing.

Ylsa's laugh bubbled up louder this time, filling the tense air around them as she shoved her wet hair back out of her face, grinning at Doran through wet lashes. He couldn't help but slowly join in, exuberated by their little misfortune, wet and half-drowned as they clung to each other, but still they laughed even as Areo ran up, perplexed by this turn of events.

"…..What happened!?" he asked finally, as Ylsa finally calmed down enough and wiped the tears from her eyes. He reached down to take her outstretched hand, to pull her up out of the water.

"A little accident," Doran said, hand lingering on her back, before she was pulled from the water. "We got derailed…" His smile turned into an awkward thin line across his face as he averted his eyes when his betrothed was finally free of the water; her sheer dress was not at all modest now that it was soaked. In Ylsa's good mood, she didn't immediately realize; it wasn't until Areo helped pull Doran from the water, and he peeled off his likewise soaked but much more opaque jacket from his shoulders, offering it to Ylsa did she look down at her gown, realizing with a start that it was clinging to her like a damn second skin! Grabbing the jacket offered to her, she slipped it over her shoulders, thanking the Gods that Dornishmen's jackets were so long.

"Thank you," she squeaked, clearing her throat awkwardly.

"It's the least I can do, after nearly drowning you," Doran replied, offering a lopsided smile. Ylsa returned it, endeared to this playful side of the Prince that she would have never predicted he had; he was so intense usually, so serious. Who would have known?

"Lady Ylsa!" Marlyn tuttered up suddenly, having been alerted to Doran and Ylsa's antics by a certain pair of Dornish handmaidens, who now stood leaning over the balcony railing above the gardens, observing everything below. Nearly getting herself lost, she was finally able to catch up to Ylsa, Ushering her to follow her to the quarters that had been set up for her across the palace. "Look at you, you're soaked! We have to run a warm bath for you before you catch a cold!" she fretted, wrapping an arm around Ylsa's shoulders, trying to pull her away. But before she let herself be led back up into the palace, Ylsa ducked away from Marlyn quickly, and bent, kissing Doran on the temple as he was sat back in his chair, dripping wet. The older man seemed surprised, eyebrows high on his forehead as he watched Ylsa be led away, until she was out of sight. He sat in silence for a moment, before it was broken by his old friend.

"Nearly drown a girl and she kisses you," Areo said, baffled. "Is it because you're a Prince, or are you a witch?"


	8. Chapter Seven - A Swim with an Audience

"What do you mean you don't know how to swim?" Telen took it almost to offense when Ylsa wouldn't go down to the pools in the Garden with her and the other servant girls. "You swam with Prince Doran our first day here!"

"I did not!" Ylsa laughed, setting her letter down once more. It had been nearly two full weeks in Dorne already and still, she hadn't been able to compose a full letter to her Father. Every time she tried to finish writing one out, she found herself at a loss of what to say. In truth, as she set the paper and quill aside, she was secretly grateful for the conversation to take her away from this arduous task. "We fell in, we didn't mean to!"

"Oh, a likely story," Telen scoffed, smirking as she sat down on the window bench across from the desk Ylsa was seated at in her quarters. "You wouldn't be able to convince me Doran didn't plan that for one moment!"

"He wouldn't," Ylsa defended him, smiling and shaking her head. "He's apologized profusely to me since."

"Any man will go to any means to see a woman in a wet, clinging dress," the other pointed out, and Ylsa scoffed heavily rolling her eyes and turning to stow her half-finished letter away in the desk drawer for now.

"Doran's not like that," Ylsa insisted.

"Doran is a man, is he not?" Telen shrugged, as if it were a fact, and stood, brushing the stray hairs that hung in her eyes away from her face. "Alright, alright, let's say it wasn't planned, and you really can't swim. You can still come down and play in the water with us!"

"Playing in the water isn't really something you do in the Westerlands, where I'm from. …I wouldn't even know how." Telen pouted, before approaching Ylsa and tugging at her hand, trying to get her to rise to her feet.

"Then come down with me and I'll teach you! It will be fun, I promise!" She gave Ylsa a cloying pout, to try and persuade her, and after a bit more hesitation, Ylsa let out a sigh, shoulder slumping slightly before she let the other pull her to her feet.

"Oh….alright," she conceded, pursing her lips. "What do you even wear to swim? Last time my dress nearly pulled me all the way down to the bottom of the pool, I can't imagine what kind of clothing wouldn't weight you down in the water like that." Telen let out a quick laugh at that, as if she were laughing at a joke, before pausing, and then laughing harder, realizing that Ylsa was serious.

"Do you wear clothes when you bathe?" she asked incredulously, still having a hold on her wrist, and pulling her out of her quarters and down the corridor, to the central staircase to descend into the garden with her. Faraway chatter could be heard faintly through the open hallways. "You swim naked, of course!"

"What!?" Ylsa tried to yank her hand away then, or drag Telen down to a halt, but the other didn't allow either, anticipating some pushback from the austere northerner. "No, I….I can't! Not out in the Gardens, where someone could see me!"

"Oh, don't get your skirts in a knot, My Lady," Telen said, amusement on the edge of her voice. "You think the female form shocks any man in Dorne? Besides, Areo is your personal guard, he'll be keeping watch at the major archways to make sure we have the garden to ourselves this afternoon."

"But the Garden is open-air, you can look down from the upper levels and see down into it, you can see the pools-"

"What, are you afraid Doran may try to peep on you?" Telen glanced back at her, a sly glint in her eye and a snakelike smile on her lips, prompting Ylsa to pout heavily. "I thought Doran 'wasn't like that?'"

"H-he's not!" Ylsa repeated, pointedly looking away, but still going along with Telen as she dragged Ylsa down to the gardens. "But….but I don't know every guard and soldier in this palace, there could be some bad ones…."

"Trust me, even if there were, no one would dare mistreat the Prince's future wife." Telen did have a point there, and that did shut Ylsa up briefly, as they made their way down to the ground floor, and out into the garden. The chatter she'd heard before grew louder now, and Telen led her to a somewhat sequestered fountain pool, shielded on three sides by a hedge and one side by the palace wall. Congregated around and in the pool were a handful of the palace's servant girls and handmaidens, maybe 10 or 12, a few of which Ylsa vaguely recognized. Ylsa felt rather awkward, suddenly, pulled into this group of girls she didn't know, and that feeling only intensified as most of them offered her a rather formal greeting, but offered Telen more friendly, cordial hellos. Ylsa wondered suddenly if she was really welcome here, or if Telen had only meant to make her feel embarrassed?

It must have been obvious she was feeling unsure of herself, because as soon as her handmaiden glanced at her, Telen rolled her eyes again, and grabbed her elbow, yanking her closer to the middle of the group.

"Lady Ylsa's too shy to say it, but I think she's secretly glad I rescued her from her stuffy room to come have fun with us," she said, which caused a few of the others to chuckle, and Ylsa herself smiled nervously. She'd actually never been around so many girls vaguely her own age before. And this wasn't at like hanging around with Myrcella. But as an older girl smiled genuinely at her, she tried to relax her shoulders and smile back.

"Just….just Ylsa is fine," she said quietly, which caused the girls immediately around her to break out into amused friendly chatter, and she was immediately enveloped in perhaps 20 different lines of questioning.

"I hear you come from so far North it snows all year round?" one asked, to which Ylsa shook her head.

"O-oh, no! Certainly not! We only get snow a few months of the year-"

"Were there as many handsome men in the North as there are here in Dorne?" another asked, and before Ylsa could answer, another chimed in.

"How do you like the Prince? He's a bit old but he's still good looking, isn't he?" That girl was slapped jovially on the shoulder for this by someone else, who let out a loud laugh.

"Oh stop it, everyone knows you have the biggest crush on the Prince, you tell everyone you want to be his 'sugarbaby'!"

"Can you blame me?" This was met by laughter from most of those assembled, even Ylsa chuckled awkwardly along, before Telen scooched in on her side, elbowing her ribs gently to catch her attention.

"Pay no mind to these idiots," Telen said, grinning at her friends. "They have nothing better to do all day than sit around and gossip." Ylsa glanced sideways at her handmaiden then, smile stretching a bit.

"But that's what you do all day too, though," she pointed out, and Telen just looked shocked at this barb for a moment, while her friends all erupted in raucous laughter, surprised the future Princess had a few jabs up her sleeve.

"If she's able to get jabs in at Telen, she's alright in my book," an older girl said, clapping her hand on Ylsa's shoulder. "C'mon, come swim with us!" Ylsa glanced back at her as she spoke, but quickly turned back around, realizing this girl wasn't wearing anything.

"O-okay," she said, almost numbly, feeling too embarrassed to say anything else, but stood stock still for the longest moment, feeling too bashful to undress.

"We've all seen everything on a woman's body before, My Lady," Telen said, pulling her overdress up over her head, catching her braid in one of the clasps and swearing as it pulled her hair. "We all have the same things, after all. You've bathed in front of me and your Northern handmaiden before, for the sake of the seven!"

"I know….it's just….I would have never done something like this back home before…"

"Well, you aren't in the North anymore," she pointed out, finally discarding her dress on the ground, kicking off her shoes. "You're in Dorne, so live a little! Have fun! Get naked!"

"That's exactly the kind of advice my mother warned me against when I was little," Ylsa pouted, but she had to admit, Telen was right, and she reluctantly slid the gauzy dress she wore up over her head, unravelling the twist in her hair in the process. Stepping out of her slippers and carefully removing her earrings, setting them in the grass, she sheepishly walked to the edge of the pool, sitting down to let her feet dangle in the water first, keeping her arms crossed in front of herself. This would not do, though, Telen thought, as she quickly came up behind Ylsa. By the time she had her foot planted directly in the middle of Ylsa's back, the poor girl had no time to realize what was happening, before she was shoved right into the water.

Unweighted this time by any clothing, Ylsa's head quickly bobbed back up to the surface after unceremoniously flopping in, and she just had time to slick her hair back out of her eyes before Telen took a running jump right over Ylsa's head, splashing down into the water behind her. When the other girl surfaced as well, Ylsa had have a mind to try and drown her!

"What was that for!" Ylsa asked, splashing water at Telen, who merely laughed and splashed her back, sending her sputtering towards the pool wall. "I could have drowned!

"But you didn't!" Telen grinned, getting splashed by both Ylsa and several other girls, and while at first Ylsa was a bit cross as being pushed in before she was ready, it was hard to stay mad when the mood was so good all around you. Besides, Telen was dunked by one of the older, stronger girls, so Ylsa felt that justice had been served.

"Let's joust!" One of the servant girls called from somewhere on the other end of the pool, and after a few enthusiastic 'yes!'s were thrown out, Ylsa hung back on the wall as all the girls, including the ones that had not yet jumped into the water, started to congregate towards the middle of the pool. Ylsa was a bit confused by what they meant by jousting, but more than anything else, she was a little reluctant to push off into the water away from the wall, not knowing if she'd be able to keep herself afloat. Thankfully, Telen kept a watchful eye on her, and offered Ylsa a spot leaning on her shoulder for support, to watch the group of girls in the direct middle of the pool get ready to 'joust.'

"What's jousting?" she asked her handmaiden, knowing they obviously didn't mean a proper knighted joust. Women weren't allowed to properly joust anyway! Telen clucked her tongue, but instead of answering, just motioned to watch the others girls. Ylsa squeaked in surprise as one girl suddenly rose up out of the water, and it took her a good second to realize she was sitting on the shoulders of another girl. A second girl rose up as well, her sitting on a partner's shoulders too, and as they all got their balance, another called out to get ready.

"I want a good clean joust!" she announced, holding her hand out inbetween the two 'teams'. "No dirty fighting, no hair pulling, no tit punching!"

"Punch her tits!" a girl called out jokingly from the crowd, and was met with laughter and shushes.

"On my mark," the first girl announced, "Go!" Drawing her hand back, both girls supporting their partners on their shoulders moved forward (albeit slowly in the water) and the two girls on their shoulders began slapping and shoving at each other; Ylsa realized with a laugh that this did resemble jousting a bit, with both 'knights' riding a 'steed' and trying to knock the other off! Soon she was cheering along with the others, shrieking in laughter each time a new challenger was tossed into the water, shielding her face from the splash. One girl even pulled a flower off of the hanging vines overhead as she was lifted up, and tossed her 'token' into the crowd around the 'arena'.

"What do you think?" Telen asked, as another girl fell into the water.

"It's better than real jousting," Ylsa replied, having always thought the real sport was rather boring. This seemed so much more lively! But just as she turned to smile at Telen, she realized she wasn't right beside her. Instead, in the next instant, she gasped as she was suddenly lifted up from under the water, nearly pitching forward as Telen emerged, supporting her on her shoulders.

"We have a new challenger!" her handmaiden called out, moving forward through the crowd, with Ylsa balanced precariously on her shoulders, and those around them cheered as Ylsa tried her hardest not to fall over on her own. "Who thinks they can take this titan of the North down?"

Ylsa couldn't help but grin as they faced off against their opponents; two girls who had gone five rounds unbeaten, and who were both probably twice Telen and Ylsa's sizes. But still, as they readied for the start of the joust, she didn't feel awkward or unsure of herself anymore, and to her great surprise, once the battle began, Telen did a good job of keeping Ylsa out of the other 'knight's reach.

"Hit her!" Telen goded from below her, and Ylsa really couldn't bring herself to truly hit someone else, but the two girls atop their partner's shoulders did grapple, and Ylsa was able to get a few good shoves in between nearly falling over. "Go for the neck!"

"I'm not gonna hit her in the neck!" Ylsa laughed, ducking away from a shove that would have sent them into the water for sure. Turning her head to avoid getting water in her eyes as her and Telen were splashed, though, she did notice that, while all the girls were in the water around them, there were a few pairs of eyes watching who were still on land, hardly concealed behind the hedge. And when Ylsa realized, from the boots showing below the edge, that the pair of spectators were soldiers, a startled gasp left her throat, and her arms immediately went from shoving at her opponent to crossing in front of her chest. As such, she and Telen were quickly tossed back into the water, and declared losers in their round.

"Aw, we were doing so well," Telen lamented as soon as they both resurfaced, but even before Ylsa could pull her drenched hair out of her face, her finger stabbed out of the water, towards where the two soldiers were barely hidden. She was further put off as she could hear snickering coming from their direction.

"You were magnificent, My Lady," one of the soldiers, hardly older than boys really, said jokingly, stepping out from behind the edge with a grin on his face. A few of the girls in the pool made noises of shock or disgust at being watched, but for the most part, Ylsa was pretty much the only one severely put off by having an audience. A few of the girls even smirked. The other soldier shoved at his companion jokingly, looking at least a little sheepish at being caught.

"C'mon, don't tease her," the second soldier said, the one with the curlier, darker hair, shooting Ylsa a sort of apologetic glance. Even so, Ylsa still felt like calling out for Areo to come and expel these miscreants, but she realized with a start that she felt more indignant at being spied on than embarrassed. This sort of thing would have set her face on fire before coming here to Dorne, she would have wanted to die from embarrassment, but now she realized rather than die, she would rather call for these soldier's heads instead. Her face set in a deep scowl at this.

"Areo will flay you like a Bolton when he catches you here," Telen cooed cynically, swimming up to the edge of the pool and pushing herself up onto the ledge unabashedly.

"Who says he'll catch us?" the first soldier asked, glancing around to the largely unaffected faces of the girls here; all of them were Dornish, Ylsa wondered if this was merely a playful encounter to them. "Besides, we just came to swim! It gets hot in these uniforms!"

"Oh I bet!" one girl called out, eliciting a few laughs, and the second soldier, looking vaguely uncomfortable all of a sudden, grabbed his friend's arm.

"Maybe we shouldn't," he murmured, glancing once again at Ylsa, who, now that she'd pushed her hair out of her face, was glaring full force at them from the edge of the water. "I had a bad feeling when we had to sneak in here, I didn't know the Prince's fiancé was here-"

"So?" The first boy shrugged his shoulders, starting to pull his coat and armor off, as a few of the girls sarcastically whooped.

"So, Telen is right, Areo will kill us for intruding on Lady Payne…"

"What? Look at her, she's not upset? Are you, Lady Payne?" The now shirtless boy grinned at Ylsa, who sunk lower in the water then to hide her heavy scowl.

"You're such an idiot-" the second soldier said, though he didn't join in. But almost as soon as he shook his head in annoyance, a heavy hand fell on both of their shoulders, sending a shockwave of panic up each of their spines. They didn't even have to turn around to realize who it was, and watching the panic develop on their faces made Ylsa smile while half of her face was still under water.

"Took the words right out of my mouth," Areo said calmly, though it was that calm that gave the boys reason to fear him; Area hardly ever showed outward anger, and it was when he was calmest that you really had to watch out. "Now, which one of you is going to be the one that tells the Prince exactly what you were doing here in the Gardens when you knew Lady Payne was present?"

"I didn't know!" the second soldier said, looking like a stricken little boy who had been caught stealing sweets.

"I doubt that." Taking hold of their shoulders with greater force, the older man yanked them back and away. "Lady Telen, I think it's time we return Lady Payne to her chambers," he said over his shoulder, as he dragged his underlings away like children, to their chagrin. Telen just sighed, crossing her arms.

"Oh, alright," she lamented, unhappy to have her time with her friends cut short. But Ylsa quickly shook her head, holding out her hand for Telen to help her up out of the pool.

"No, no, it's alright!" she said, ringing her hair out over the edge of the pool, before reaching for her dress; if there was one good thing about these dornish style dresses, it was that they were so easy to put on; her old dresses were so intricate, had so many layers, the fancier ones she needed help to wear. But these were a breeze. Slipping the thin fabric up over her head and flattening the skirts out, she didn't bother with her shoes once again; she didn't want to damage the silk and she didn't have time to properly dry off so as not to get the silk slippers wet. "You stay, I want to catch up to Areo."

"Are you sure?" Telen asked, though she was obviously delighted to get to remain behind. Ylsa nodded, and Telen almost immediately slipped back into the water.

Hurrying after the Captain of the guard and his captives, she felt a fire start to smolder in her belly; how dare those soldiers have the….the audacity to peep on her! Whether or not they knew she would specifically be there was beside the point, and the pure gall of that first boy! She was pouting pretty hard, working herself up as she tried to catch up with the trio, feeling angry and out to give those soldiers an earful of her mind before Areo could properly punish them, whatever it was he would do to them!

"Areo!" she called out, as she finally caught up, almost up to a jog at this point. The large man turned then, still gripping the two younger men like they were unruly sons, the first looking pissed at being caught, the second looking genuinely upset at what they'd done. Ylsa had on the angriest face she could muster as she stomped up, but, almost as soon as she'd received the attention of all three of them, she felt herself deflating.

What was she doing, she thought. Was she going to cuss them out? Certainly not! But…she was angry. Except now, she was just unsure of herself as well. She swallowed hard. It was then, though, that something Doran had said to her a week ago rang through her head again. 'They shouldn't have touched you, because you did not want it.' The same principal applied here, she thought, and she regained a bit of her confidence.

"I….I would like an apology," she said, after a moments hesitation. "I don't ask much, but…..I would like a bit of courtesy. I'm not yours to look at. In fact, I'm…not anyone's." She crossed her arms then, looking indignant, before glancing away quickly. The first soldier's face went from pissed to almost amused, but the second, the curly haired boy, his expression didn't change. "If we were in my homelands, you'd be punished severely for looking at a noblewoman like that!"

"But we're in Dorne," the first soldier smirked, which was met by a quick slap to the back of his head from Areo.

"I'm sorry, My Lady," the second soldier said quietly, looking honestly embarrassed, for both him and his companion. "I…we really didn't know you'd be there, we always tease those girls, we hadn't assumed you'd be there-"

"Well…I was. And, I don't like that." Ylsa felt somewhat….well, bratty saying something like that. Back home she never would have dared say anything in such a tone, and even if she hadn't liked something back home, she wouldn't have had the freedom to say so. But Doran kept telling her, if she didn't like something, if something made her unhappy, to say so. So…here she was.

"I'm truly sorry," he repeated, elbowing his friend in the ribs when he rolled his eyes. Ylsa just huffed, before turning slightly, her cheeks flaring red.

"Well….that's all I wanted to say." She glanced at Areo, who just smiled kindly at her, pleased that their guest was starting to grow a voice and use it. Yanking the soldiers along with him, he dipped his head slightly to her, and disappeared into the palace. Ylsa was left standing there, feeling slightly better about the situation. She briefly contemplated going back to the pool, but decided against it, feeling a bit tired after everything that had happened. Finding her way back to her chambers, she collapsed on her bed, hair still wet, and fell into a well deserved nap.


	9. Chapter Eight - Figs and Supper

"These grow on trees?" Telen laughed as Ylsa looked to her incredulously, quickly eating another fig, looking not at all like the refined lady she tried so desperately to be and more like a child gobbling candy.

"It's just fruit; do you not have figs in the North?" Ylsa shook her head.

"Not this kind of fruit; we have lemons in the Crownlands and the Reach, and apples all over, but I've never had a fruit like this! It's like sweets!"

"All food from Dorne is a treat, My Lady," Ellanna said, stretching the clean sheets over Ylsa's bed, rolling her eyes at Telen, who was yet again shirking her regular duties. "If you think figs are good, you should try the actual sweets."

"My mouth wouldn't be able to handle it," Ylsa said, eyeing the last fig in the bowl Telen had brought for them to eat. The other noticed her, smirking.

"You can have it, I'm not going to fight you over it! If you want more we can call for a servant to bring us more, you know."

"YOU are the servant we would call, Telen!" Ellanna said, but was hushed by the younger handmaiden.

"Oh, I shouldn't…they're so sweet, I shouldn't eat too many or I'll lose my figure…" Ylsa pursed her lips, flashbacks of her stepmother berating her any time Ylsa ate anything, telling her she'd get fat and ugly if she 'kept eating like one of the hogs.' Even though Ylsa was far from either of those things, she couldn't help but bid her awful stepmother's warning. Telen scoffed at this though, picking the fig up and handing it to Ylsa.

"You're thin as a rail, I worry a stiff breeze will blow you away! Besides, you need to put some weight on, Doran likes a little something to grab-"

"Telen!" Ellanna whapped the younger woman on the back of the head, but in a joking sort of way, smiling and shaking her head. "How would you even know if that were true or not?" But Ylsa had already gone a little white.

"He's never had a thing for waifs before! Mellario was a substantial woman!" Telen dodged the next smack, grinning impishly.

"Mellario was thin before she had Trystane, and even after, it was only her hips that were wide!"

"That's what I'm saying!" Telen poked at Ylsa's side. "You have no squish, what will Doran hold onto when he-"

"Oh, that's enough!" Ellanna cut Telen off once and for all when she saw how nervous poor Ylsa looked, swatting at Telen, getting her to stand and go off to finally finish her chores. "That's enough talk about that."

"Should I, though?" Ylsa finally spoke up, looking up at Ellanna. "Am I too skinny? Father always said a man would be happier with a slim wife, but that was in the Westerlands, do the Dornish not like slim?" Ellanna made a sort of pitying face, sitting down beside Ylsa.

"Dornishmen like women, period. Whatever you are, there's someone who wants that."

"But I don't have to marry someone," Ylsa countered, "I have to marry Doran. …If he prefers something else I could try to be that?" She was so earnest, Ellanna almost couldn't keep a straight face; she was so much sweeter than your average Dornish woman. So much more impressionable too. Ellanna was secretly glad her own daughter was more spirited than Ylsa.

"Doran would not want you to change how you are for him. He likes…. Authenticity. He likes things just the way they are." She nodded, accentuating the point, before standing. "Don't worry so much, My Lady. If he didn't like you, you wouldn't be here, would you?"

"I suppose not…." Ylsa nodded, a bit to herself and a bit to Ellanna. She knew Telen was just trying to shock her; her youngest handmaiden DID like to try and throw Ylsa off guard with shocking comments or actions. Still though. It was a worry in the back of her mind; she didn't want to be some burden that Doran had to put up with.

"Try not to take Telen so seriously, Lady Ylsa."

"I try not to," she replied playfully, as Telen stuck her tongue out. "….I'm going for a little walk, I think."

"Do you want one of us to go with you?" Ellanna asked, but Ylsa just shook her head. "Are you sure? Would you rather Areo go with you?"

"No, I'm just going down to see some of the flowers, I'll be fine." The two Dornish women glanced at each other, but Ellanna eventually just shrugged, nodding. "Alright. Doran has requested you supper with him in his quarters this evening, but he'll probably send a servant for you before you return. And remember, you're always in shouting distance of a guard."

"I know. I'll see the two of you a little later." Standing and slipping her silken shoes on, as well as snagging that last fig, she skittered out of her quarters, shutting the door behind her.

"My Lady," Areo greeted, as she slipped from her room.

"I'm just going to the gardens this time," she said lightheartedly, smiling a bit. "I've learned my lesson with trying to sneak out." Areo returned her smile kindly, dipping his head slightly.

"I know you have, Lady Ylsa." Waving, she made her way through the open air corridors, sighing contentedly in the late afternoon breeze, her hair fluttering loose by her shoulders and the mint green crepe fabric of her dress swaying with each step. The sun was still high in the sky despite the hour, but the crickets were just beginning to play their evening orchestra, with the occasional cicada buzzing by. Making her way to the open air gardens, she stepped into the merciful shade of the overhead trellises, admiring the way the flowering vines interwove above her head. The garden at the Palace in Sunspear was nothing compared to the intricate maze created here at the Water Gardens.

Taking a bite of the fig, leisurely strolling through the high hedges, she rounded a corner. But in a flurry and clatter of armor and a tangle of fabric, she dropped the fruit and tried to back away with the person she'd just collided with, but found that whomever this person was had stepped on the hem of her dress as they'd bumped into one another, and with a tear, Ylsa went tumbling backwards. She let out a little squeak, fully expecting to hit the ground and go sprawling, but before she had the chance, the person whom had knocked her down caught her by the wrist. Yanking her back up, she once again collided with him, but this time he was prepared, and caught her against his chest.

"My Lady! Are you alright?" He asked, breathless from surprise and the fluster of the collision, though at the very edge of his voice was a small, incredulous laugh. Looking up then, Ylsa blinked a few times, processing who this was. When it finally hit her, she yanked her wrist out of his grasp, stepping away.

"You!" she said, more surprised than offended, really, but still a little offended. It was the boy from yesterday; one of them, anyway. The one with curly hair, who'd appeared genuinely sorry for he and his friend's actions, but still! "You're the soldier from yesterday!" At being recognized, he seemed a bit bashful, but still tried to keep a smile up.

"Ah….yes. Jerris Pallor, My Lady." Bowing slightly in respect, he dipped his head, though his dark eyes soon re-met with Ylsa's. Ylsa was not smiling though. She wasn't exactly scowling; she wasn't there yet, but it was probably as close to a scowl as she could muster.

"I'm fuller clothed this time, sorry to tell you," she said, pursing her lips. "…Where's your friend? Hiding around the next corner?"

"Ahaha….no. We've had our shifts….rearranged so we don't guard with one another anymore, My Lady." Ylsa sniffed at that, happy to hear it.

"….Good." Smoothing out her dress then, looking down at the tear in the hem and pouting. Jerris looked down then too, realizing her dress was ripped.

"Oh! My Lady, my apologies!"

"Maybe next time to stalk me in the gardens you should keep a larger distance so you don't ruin the expensive clothes Doran has gifted me…." Ylsa really did feel more upset that the gift Doran had given her was ripped; Ylsa was a pragmatic girl, she didn't care if her clothes were scuffed or repaired back in the Westerlands, but this was a dress Doran had given her, and looked expensive at that. She was upset that something he'd given her was damaged.

"I wasn't!" Jerris shook his head, looking a bit worried. "I wasn't stalking you, I was just doing my rounds, I swear!"

"Hmph. ….I suppose then you'd like me to thank you for keeping me from falling then?" She felt a little rebellious to this boy, not wanting to properly thank him, or even properly look him in the eye. But Jerris just shook his head.

"It was my pleasure, Lady Ylsa." Glancing at him quickly, she still pouted.

"…You made me drop my fig." It sounded so bratty and childish coming out in that tone, but at this point Ylsa really just needed something to be mad at him over. She was going to stay sore at him for a while. But Jerris brightened up at this, beckoning her to follow him as he turned and made his way down a hedged corridor in the garden.

"Follow me, My Lady, I'll remedy that." Ylsa lagged behind him a bit, before tuttering after him, curious but still feeling defiant. He led her around another bend, and out into a little opening where a few bent trees grew in the middle of a small clearing. From their branches hung fat, ripe figs. Motioning up to the branches, he looked back at her, smiling kindly. His dark caramel skin still somehow managed to carry a rosy tint to his boyish features. "Problem solved!"

"…You're very lucky, Jerris the soldier," she said, eyeing him a moment longer, before striding past him and trying to reach up to pluck a few out of the branches. She couldn't quite reach, her fingers just barely skimming the bottom of one of the fruits, but before she could turn back and ask for help, she was suddenly hoisted up, jerking up into the air as Jerri picked her up by her knees, setting on his shoulder. "Hey! Be careful!" she gasped, pitching backward from her perch on his shoulder slightly, but was steadied as he reached up, stabilizing her with a hand on her lower back. Grabbing onto his head with one hand for extra stability, she got close to a scowl gain as she looked down at him.

"Let me help, Lady Ylsa," he said, smiling pleasantly up at her, and she had to look away, a little sour that he was making it hard to stay mad at him. Plucking a fair few figs from the branches (she was up here, might as well take advantage of it) and placed them in a cradle in her skirts, she patted the top of Jerris head when she was finished.

"Alright, you can put me down….don't drop me!" Jerris laughed at this, carefully taking her off his shoulder and setting her on her feet, just smiling kindly as she pouted. She glanced at him quickly, taking one of the figs and handing it to him. "Here. As payment."

"A fair wage," he said, accepting it, taking a bite. Ylsa shot him an amused look, before rolling her eyes.

"Haven't you got any handmaidens to spy on or annoy?" she asked.

"I'm on the straight and narrow now, My Lady, I swear it."

"Hmm. We'll see about that." It was when Ylsa finally let her guard down at smiled genuinely at the soldier that they were interrupted, by a servant girl, who bore Ylsa's invitation to dinner. "Good timing I suppose," she said, nodding to the girl, "I have dessert here, so I may as well have some dinner."

"Do you know the way, My Lady?" Jerris asked, but Ylsa just nodded.

"Yes. ….Thank you." The two of them exchanged a small look, before Ylsa turned, and made her way out of the clearing. Jerris watched her go until he could no longer see her through the hedge.

* * *

"Ylsa." Doran smiled warmly as Ylsa was let into his quarters. The sitting room was already laid out with rich-smelling foods, and as Ylsa carried in her skirtfull of figs, she felt rather silly, but Doran's handmaidens took them and set them in a bowl on the low table none the less. Ylsa was offered a seat opposite Doran by one of the handmaidens, but Doran shook his head. "If it's not offensive to you, my Lady, I'd rather you sit beside me." Doran himself was seated on a long couch, and he patted beside him. Ylsa hesitated a moment, but nodded quickly, her cheeks going slightly pink as she obliged, sitting down, though not too close, beside her intended.

"Thank you for inviting me to supper," she said, bowing her head slightly, but Doran only chuckled, taking a sip from his chalice as a similar one was poured with wine for Ylsa.

"I hope we will be dining like this every day soon," he said, watching her take small sips of the sweet wine, smiling in amusement at the tiny face of disgust she tried to hide. "You know, Dorne is renowned for it's wine." Ylsa looked up, fixing her expression to not show her disdain for the deep red liquid.

"Oh?" she asked, forcing another sip down, completely unused to drinking wine; her father had never let her before.

"But wine is not for everyone. If you don't like it, you only need to say as much."

"It's…..distinct." Ylsa tried to remain tactful, but as Doran raised his eyebrows slowly at that comment, she couldn't help but laugh, hiding it behind her hand, looking away. "Alright it's pretty bad….I'm sorry!"

"Don't be sorry, Ylsa," Reaching out and taking her hand away from her mouth, unsheilding that smile she tried to hide every time she was amused, he didn't let go of that hand immediately. "As I have said, I want you to tell me any time anything is to your displeasure, and it will be gone."

"Maybe wine is like coffee," Ylsa countered, referring to the bitter morning drink she was slowly growing accustomed to. "The more you drink it, the better it becomes." Doran smiled at this, leaning back.

"You're a wise girl," he observed, calling for a servant to replace Ylsa's chalice with one of water instead.

"I only know what others tell me," she said, looking away bashfully at the compliment.

"…Speaking of what others tell me." Doran straightened slightly, looking slightly more serious. "Areo says there was some trouble by the pools yesterday?" Ylsa just nodded, shrugging slightly.

"Ah…yes, but he took care of it. Just…a few soldiers were spying…"

"I hope you know they were punished accordingly. I won't tolerate that sort of mistreatment from you or any guest of House Martell."

"I know! I spoke with one again today, Jerris Pallor. He ran into me, actually….quite literally." Doran looked a bit surprised at this news, looking down at the torn hem of Ylsa's dress when she pointed at it.

"You did? Areo told them to keep their distance-"

"I was out walking in the gardens, and we both turned a corner and bumped into one another. I thought he was spying on me again but he said he was just on his rounds. I believe him…..after a little hesitation." Ylsa smiled at that, to reassure Doran that it was alright, but the other looked away, a thoughtful look crossing his features. His stormy green eyes looked far away. "…It's alright, Prince Doran, I don't hold a grudge. He did apologize after all."

"Yes….I suppose if you're alright with it, then, that's all that matters." Bringing himself back down to Earth, he turned a kindly smile back to Ylsa, finally letting go of her hand. She'd pretty much forgotten he was still holding it; it'd felt nice. "Do tell me if you find yourself running into him in odd places, I'll have Areo keep a watch on him as well."

"I think he's really sorry. He seems nice enough." She shrugged again. "I won't stay mad." Doran smiled at her at this.

"You're sweeter than anyone deserves, Lady Ylsa."


	10. Chapter Nine - Flirtation

Areo watched the subtle shift of expression on Doran's face as the Prince studied the chess board before him. The two of them sat opposite one another, both mulling over their next moves, waiting for Doran to strike. He reached out tentatively, before withdrawing his hand to think on his move further, prompting a chuckle from his Captain of the Guard.

"Is my contemplation amusing to you, Areo?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow up as he glanced to the other's face.

"Certainly, considering you have me cornered, Doran. Any move you make could be my last and yet you think on it for so long."

"I'm planning ahead, thinking of all the ways you could wiggle out of my grasp." Doran reached out again, hesitantly picking up the rook, and moving it three spaces up. "Check."

"See?" Areo shook his head, rubbing his chin as he too took in the landscape of the board, trying to find a way out of the corner he was backed into. He could surely protect the king with his queen, but that would surely sacrifice his most valuable playing piece.

It was Doran's turn to be amused by his friend's determination in memorizing the board, and he sighed contentedly as a soft breeze rushed past the two. The chess table had been set up on a small balcony, overlooking the gardens so Doran and Areo could take in a bit of sun as they contested one another in a battle of strategy. The breeze that rolled in carried the mellow scent of ripening persimmons fruits, as well as the salt from the sea, but it also brought something else; laughter.

It was a lovely sound, Ylsa's laugh. Her voice was so quiet and demure, but when she laughed it was clear as a bell; enchanting, bewitching almost, at least Doran thought. He did so love it when she laughed, and she was doing so more freely now, as she grew more accustomed to her new life. It made Doran happy, and he smiled blissfully. Looking out over the Gardens, he squinted, wanting to pinpoint just where his betrothed laughter was coming from.

Meanwhile, Areo was having a hell of a time getting out of Check. Any move he could make that wasn't with his queen was a surefire checkmate, but he was so reluctant to sacrifice her. It took him several minutes of deciding, but finally he relented, accepting the inevitable, and moving his queen to block Doran's rook. He'd have to take this sacrifice and bear it. Doran didn't look back to the board right away, though. Instead, his gaze was locked at a point in the distant garden, and when Areo shifted to better look at what he was staring at, he understood why.

"I've asked Lady Ylsa if she would like me to remove Soldier Pallor from duty here in the Watergardens," Areo said quietly, as the two old friends watched Doran's fiancé laugh in delight as she was teased good naturedly by Jerris, the soldier boy who had won her friendship with his genuine nature. They sat beneath the fig tree he had helped Ylsa to plunder at their fated meeting, which Ylsa had been fond of meeting him under since. He was only joking around, holding a branch with a flowering vine hanging low off of it, shaking petals from the flower over Ylsa. She, in turn, probably meant to playfully throw one of the overripe figs that sat on the ground at him, but ended up really catching him hard on the side of the head with one.

Areo's gaze shifted to Doran, who was smiling a strange, almost reticent smile as Ylsa's stricken apologies replaced her laughter in the late Autumn air. He shifted slightly in his chair, before casually glancing back at the board, reaching out without much thought to move…his knight. He seemed to overlook the easiest move on the board, of taking Areo's queen with his rook, and instead haphazardly placed his knight in a disadvantageous position. Areo shot him a confused glance, but found the Prince had already returned his stormy gaze to the couple in the garden.

"No, I'm happy she is able to find friendship, even in adversity," Doran said distractedly. "…That is just her nature, isn't it?"

"….Prince Doran?" Areo was honestly a bit confused by Doran's reaction; He was almost acting as if he was some jilted lover. But of course Doran was always the first to attribute his fondness of Ylsa to duty, and civility, not of romantic interest. This reaction seemed to directly contradict this, though.

Jerris was now gently picking unblossomed flower buds from their stems and flicking them at Ylsa, who was at first trying to feign insult at the little sap-speckles that were flicked onto her dress from the snipped stems, but eventually picked up her laughter once more. Areo sighed; Ylsa would have been the first to deny it, but the flirtation was apparent to him, and to the Prince. Feeling an awkward air settle over the two of them, the Captain reached out, knocking over Doran's rook with his queen, placing his token directly in the path of Doran's king; a clear win.

"Checkmate," Areo said, breaking Doran out of his internal musings over the pair in the garden, brining his gaze back to the board. He seemed to stare in shock at what lay before him, but a sort of bittersweet smile spread across his features as he came to terms with the apparent loss.

"I have been usurped while I wasn't paying attention it seems," he said, starting to return the pieces back to their starting positions. Areo honestly could not decipher if the prince was talking about the Game….or something else.

* * *

"He's handsome."

"I suppose."

"He's fit, isn't he?"

"He's a soldier, of course he is."

"And those eyes, those dreamy eyes!"

"Telen, you're drooling." Ylsa covered her mouth as she laughed at her handmaiden, who was quick to smack the drool off her own chin and turn her face away in a huff.

"Whatever! He likes you! Lucky brat!" Telen stuck her tongue out teasingly at Ylsa, as the two of them soaked in the heated pools of the bathhouse.

"Well, yes, he's a kind boy, and I like him too," Ylsa pointed out, carefully inspecting the various bottles of scented oils and perfumes that she was reticent to add to the water, but curious to smell.

"I don't mean as a friend, you daft girl," Telen went on, rolling her eyes, though Ylsa just fixed her with a sarcastic look; she was growing used to the dornish woman's friendly barbs. Ylsa had been beating around this particular bush all afternoon, after she'd returned to her wing of the Palace covered in speckles of sap and flower petals after her little romp with her new 'friend'. And Telen, for one, was not on to entertain such pussy-footing. "Your friendship is not what's on that boys mind, and you know it. It's probably your tits, from when he saw you in the pool." Ylsa sputtered at that; Telen's blunt way of addressing the most sensitive and awkward of topics, she was not used to however. Knocking down a bottle of lavender oils into the water, she scrambled to right it.

"No he's not! He's extremely gentlemanly!" she defended him, looking honestly shocked. "He hasn't touched me once without me allowing it, and he's only ever been kind to me, he wouldn't have those sorts of things on his mind! He was very sorry that incident ever happened!"

"Ylsa, please! You're so innocent it's painful!"

"It's not my fault you have these ideas awful in your head!" Pouting and looking away, she sunk lower into the water, until it reached almost to her eyes.

"But you like him back too in the same way, don't you?" Telen, grabbed one of the towels by the edge of the bathing pool, wrapping her long, course hair up into a twist so it wouldn't get wet.

"Of course I don't!" Ylsa rose to speak, but quickly went back to her submerged state, eyes glancing over at her handmaiden. " …I'm engaged to be married."

"So?" Telen shrugged. "You're your own person, Ylsa, and trust me, your virginity is NOT the most valuable part of you."

"Hush!" Red in the face, from the conversation as well as the warm steam rising off the water. "I'm going to be married! And I don't feel that way about Jerris!"

"Then how come you keep flirting with him?"

"Flirting!" Having had just about enough of this, Ylsa rose from the water suddenly, grabbing a towel, and wrapping it around herself as she quickly stepped out of the bathing pool, her wet hair limp at her shoulders. "I have not been flirting!"

"Yes you have! You're always giggling and playfully throwing things at him and smacking him; what do you think flirting is?"

"Not that!" Ylsa looked honestly uncomfortable at this revelation, wondering if it appeared that she'd been flirting to EVERYONE and not just Telen. She was a naturally playful girl, she'd always been, it's just….after the arrival of her stepmother, her playful side had all but disappeared. Only now was she feeling free enough for it to reemerge, and now she had to worry about it coming off as flirting? "I haven't been…. Trying to flirt, anyway. I honestly don't see Jerris in that way!" Telen had been callously unbelieving before, but seeing this earnest shift in Ylsa's composure, she dropped the smile from her face, eyebrows knitting together.

"…Really?"

"Yes, really!"

"…Well, then you'd better stop joking around with him, I'm not the only one who's been whispering things like that."

"What!" Squeaking in dismay, Ylsa felt anything but relaxed after her bath, and when another handmaiden brought her a dressing gown to wrap up in, she tied the sash haphazardly, and sped off without even putting her shoes on or tying up her hair. With the skirts of the robe billowing around behind her as she left, she left a trail of water droplets along behind her, as her hair dripped down her shoulders. With a Stoney look on her face, she made her way up to her quarters, and when Telen tried to follow after her, found that Ylsa had closed and locked the door to her chambers behind her.


	11. Chapter Eleven - Choices

Ylsa paced slowly underneath the fig tree for a while, a tasseled shawl draped over her shoulders so she wouldn't get cold in the fading light of the early evening. A few strands of wavy hair had popped out of her rushed hair style, pinned up to keep her long hair off the back of her neck; it had been quite hot earlier, but now she wondered if she should take her hair down to guard against a chill as the temperature dropped. Sighing, she paused her pacing, biting her lip, and sat down at the foot of the tree. Her stomach churned as she waited for Jerris.

"Be direct," she muttered to herself, "don't beat around the bush." It was going to be an awkward conversation. Ylsa had never faced this situation at all before; she'd never had any men her own age who were unwed to interact with! As the daughter of a lord, she spent almost every day inside her father's castle, serving her stepmother. What little social interaction she ever got was with handmaidens and female servants. So how could have Ylsa found herself in this situation before coming here? And how could she have found herself here now?

She hadn't been trying to flirt with Jerris. And now she was terrified he was getting the wrong idea, and worse…..she was terrified everyone else was getting the wrong idea.

"Nip it in the bud, just nip it," she said, shaking her head. "Don't let a rumor get started, just snuff it out quick!"

"Snuff what out?" Right on cue, Jerris strolled up leisurely, an easy smile adorning his boyish features. Ylsa swallowed hard as she looked up at him. She didn't rise to meet him just yet, just glanced at her feet worriedly.

"I…..I, um…." She stuttered at first, unsure of exactly how to word it, tripping over the sounds. Jerris sat down beside her, maybe a little close, and immediately she jumped up, resuming her pacing.

"Ylsa, just tell me," he said, sounding slightly worried, following her back up to his feet. "You can tell me anything."

"Jerris, I-I just….I've heard some things, and I'm worried….worried you might think one thing when I don't mean it that way-" her words were rushing out a little fast, her cheeks red as she refused to make eye contact with him. "But more importantly, it LOOKS one way when it shouldn't!"

"What are you even talking about?" Chuckling at her flustered babbling, Jerris reached out, taking one of Ylsa's hands, startling her. He was a little more touchy than your average soldier ought to be with the future Princess of Dorne on a regular basis, but this was pretty brazen. Ylsa just clammed up, suddenly staring directly at him.

"I-I…Telen said that….that I've been flirting with you!" she blurted out, her heart pounding, totally embarrassed. Jerris didn't seem to register anything wrong with what she'd said though, and continued to stare back at her, unaffected.

"Yes?" This threw Ylsa off guard a bit, as she made a shocked face at him. Jerris shrugged. "So have I, with you."

"W- …..why!? Why didn't you say anything? Why did you flirt with ME?" She looked utterly stricken, not yet pulling away from Jerris as he still held her hand.

"Because? I like you?" To him, it confused him why Ylsa was acting so flustered; he thought this was common knowledge here. "Because you're fun to tease and I love the way you blush and laugh when I do it."

"Jerris, that's-!" Ylsa couldn't really find the words to scold him, just alternating her gaze from his face to the ground bashfully, feeling like she'd just been kicked by a mule. He knew she was engaged to be married, he thought she was flirting with him, and he was flirting back? Why? She was Doran's future wife! What purpose would flirting achieve?

Well, Ylsa didn't have to ponder that question long. As her blue eyes lifted to meet his, he suddenly yanked on the hand he held, pulling her closer. Wrapping an arm around her back, he cut off Ylsa's startled gasp by kissing her, full on the mouth. All at once, Ylsa felt like she'd been struck by lightning….and not in a good way. She felt frozen, like she couldn't react, couldn't push him away, she was suddenly a statue. She'd never kissed, never been kissed, and you would have thought it would be a thrilling experience for the first time, but it felt so wrong. She wanted to slither out of Jerris' grasp like a garter snake, and slip into the edge and never be seen again.

When Jerris finally let her free, he wore a somewhat blissful smile, but all Ylsa could do was stare open mouthed at him.

"Why!?" she gasped, backing away a step or two. "Why did you just kiss me!?"

"….Because? We like each other?" The way the soldier boy was looking at her, you could tell he thought she was acting a little bit crazy, but she rapidly shook her head, eyes wide.

"I don't!" She burst out, tears welling up in her eyes, totally overwhelmed by the situation. "I'm going to be married!"

"So?" Ylsa's hand flew to cover her mouth at that one little word; so!? So!? "Ylsa, it doesn't matter who you are married to in Dorne. If two people want to be with one another, no one would judge them."

"I don't want to be with you!" She backed up a bit more, her heartrate increasing as Jerris tried to follow suit. "I want to be with my husband!"

"You do?" Jerris looked honestly perplexed by that; after all, who would want to be with an old man, who already had a teenage son and an estranged wife, when they could be with a Dornish soldier instead? Especially a young fragile girl like Ylsa. "You can have us both, you know?"

"I don't want you both!" Hot, embarrassed tears started streaking down her face as she wiped her mouth, trying to get the taste of Jerris' tongue out of it. "Leave me alone!" Turning then, she hiking up her long skirt in her arms and took off in the opposite direction.

"Ylsa, come on-" he started to call after her, but was cut off, stopped dead in his tracks.

"Touch me again and I'll tell Areo!" She knew she sounded a little like a child threatening to tattle, but it worked; Jerris didn't follow her. Running through the maze of hedges and pools, snagging her skirt on a few branches, not caring as the gossamer fabric was torn a bit. She was crying, though from frustration, or overwhelm, or embarrassment, she didn't know. Probably all three. She let out a gut wrenching sob as she emerged from the gardens, not bothering to make it back up to her quarters; she just found the nearest dead-end corridor, slumped against the wall at the end, and curled her legs in to cry and feel sorry for herself.

* * *

Doran sat, still in the evening breeze, as he waited. He had called to have Lady Ylsa brought to him to share dinner together, though while he was usually drinking already and chatting with Areo or whichever guard was near, today he was silent. He had a serious look in her eyes, if not a slightly troubled look. His fingered were laced together anxiously in his lap. A small knock at his chambers alerted him to visitors outside, and when he called out to enter, Ylsa quietly slipped through the door, sitting down beside him in a somewhat subdued manner. It seemed today they were two peas in a pod in that respect.

"Prince Doran," she greeted, smiling a bit, though she looked tired. Her eyes were a little puffy, as if she'd been crying. Doran's stomach clenched at the thought.

"Ylsa, are you alright?" he asked, his eyebrows knitting together, but she only nodded, visibly trying to banish the tired expression from her face. She only partially succeeded.

"I've been having strange dreams that keep me up at night, is all. It's nothing to worry about." Doran would usually press a little further, but as he had several other things on his mind at the moment, he let it drop.

"Ah, well, in that case, please, eat!" Motioning to the low table set out before them, he smiled, a little strained.

"Thank you, my Prince, but…..I find myself a little lost for appetite tonight," she said quietly, looking down slightly. She wouldn't usually say so, but lately she'd grown a little more comfortable voicing her feelings for Doran, as he so often requested she doo. He just nodded.

"I see. It's just as well, I've not much of an appetite tonight either." Sighing, he looked at the girl sat next to him. Even as morose as she was this moment, she was beautiful. It made his chest tight in a not-unpleasant way. He loved to look at Ylsa, her luminous skin, her bright, kind eyes, her soft, wavy hair, her soft form draped in fine Dornish silks and fabrics. She was magnificent to him….and it only made him that much more reluctant to cut to the chase. But he must. For her sake as well as his.

"…Lady Ylsa, I must confess," he started, hesitantly taking her hand in his. Ylsa studied his hand, wondering why it had made her skin crawl for Jerris to hold her hand like this, but with Doran….it felt natural. Almost like a relief now that he was touching her. Like she was waiting on it. "My time spent with you here at the water gardens has been so pleasurable. You are truly a delight to me, My Lady." Glancing up at Doran through her lashed, Ylsa felt something in her chest flutter at those words. Doran was so sincere, it made her heart race.

"You delight me as well, My Lord," she replied quietly, slowly placing her other hand on top of his, clasping his larger hand in both of hers. She wasn't making this easy on him.

"But it is my admiration of you, Lady Ylsa, that drives me to the only logical conclusion I can come to. And it is this….. I have broken off our betrothal." Ylsa froze at that, her stomach dropping so hard it nearly knocked the breath out of her. Her yes snapped up to his, a confused look scrawled across her pretty face.

"What?" she asked breathlessly, truly taken off guard, even more so than when Jerris had kissed her. "Why!?"

"My lady," Doran smiled kindly at her, patting her hand soothingly. "I cannot go on pretending that it is ethical or kind to you to keep up this charade. You are a young woman, a bright flower that's only just blossomed, and I am a withering vine that could only ever hope to cling to the same trellis as you. To try and convince myself that I could make you happy would only be a bitter lie."

"Doran!" Utterly astounded by his words, shaking her head, "I don't- you aren't an old vine! You're a flower too! And if you ARE a vine, then so am I!" Panicking, wondering if Doran had somehow seen or heard of her ill-begotten kiss with Jerris, she bit her lip.

"You need to be free to choose who you truly desire, my Lady." He smiled at her sadly. "Your father nor I should have that dominion over you. You-"

"I choose you!" Raising her voice, interrupting Doran, her lower lip quivered. "I choose you, Doran! I want you!"

"Lady Yl-"

"No!" Interrupting him again, forcefully, she moved closer to him, her eyebrows furrowing. "I don't want anyone else! I don't want to flirt or kiss any soldier boys! I don't want anyone to claim me! I don't want to have to find someone else! I want to become your wife!"

"How can you possibly mean that?" Doran looked upon her kindly, as if she were a child throwing a tantrum, which made Ylsa quite indignant.

"Because!" Getting a little bit of fire in her belly now. "Because, I'm not a stupid woman who is incapable of making her own decisions!" She hadn't realized her voice had risen to shouting so quickly. "You said it yourself! I am allowed to choose who and what I want in my life! I am allowed to say who can see or touch me! I am allowed to choose!"

"You are, Ylsa-"

"So stop telling me what I do and don't want, you don't know! Ask me, don't tell me!" The last bit was more of a plea, really, as she desperately tried to assert herself. Doran was stunned; she really was an amazing young woman. Going from someone so conditioned to be obedient, to so heartfully defending her own choices. Doran nodded numbly.

"Alright…..what is your choice then?"

"You," she said quietly, grabbing onto the front of Doran's jacket suddenly, leaning in before he could stop her, and before she could stop herself, crashing her lips against his.

Now THIS, this was how she'd always imagined kissing to feel. A little panicked, a little giddy, a little like she didn't know what she was doing, but knew enough to want to do it. It felt new and exciting and warm and just like she BELONGED in this moment. When she pulled away, she immediately wished she could dive back in for another.

Doran kissed her back gently, overcome with such a sudden and intense feeling of relief and happiness; it had been agony thinking that Ylsa wanted away from him. How silly he had been to assume such important things, and how poetic she had insisted he was wrong. Oh, how happy he was to be wrong!

"I choose you then, too," he said, gazing at her through those dark green eyes, for once keeping her gaze for as long as he wanted, as she refused to look away from him.


	12. Chapter Twelve - Call the Septon

Telen and Ellanna walked a few paced behind Ylsa and Doran, just side eyeing each other with varying degrees of amusement and mirth. The two of them were making their way through the gardens at a leisurely pace in the early morning breeze. Ahead of them, in the maze of hedges and fountains lay a brunch set out in the merciful shade of several blossoming trees whose branches bent down low over the little cove. At the moment, it was a bit cool, but soon as the sun moved overhead, it would provide the space below with much needed and appreciated shade.

Ylsa was pushing Doran's wheeled chair along the well-trodden path; she was a slight girl but Doran was no behemoth himself, it wasn't so difficult. Her two handmaidens stayed just out of earshot of the couple, so they couldn't make out what she was saying to Doran each time she bent lower to speak to him over his shoulder, but likewise, they could not hear the hushed conversation between Telen and Ellanna.

"She was so upset before," Telen said. "And now she's all hunky dory. She's downright affectionate with him."

"They are to be married," Ellanna reminded her, shrugging. "Sometimes, even arranged matches can be good matches."

"She was getting distant for a while, and then that whole business with Jerris….I still don't know how she could have picked Doran over Jerris."

"Doran is the PRINCE, Telen. That's a bit better than a mere soldier."

"But Doran is also OLD, Ellanna."

"Hey, watch it, old is gold, young lady." Telen laughed as the older woman good naturedly pulled her braid. Telen shrugged, maybe Ellanna was right. But she got the feeling Ylsa wasn't the type that was after status. So she really couldn't figure out the girl's motive….because it couldn't be true love, right?

As the foursome approached the shaded enclave, Ylsa eased Doran's chair to a stop in the shadiest spot, and started preparing a cup of coffee for him. Two sugars, no cream. Hers consisted of a fair bit more sugar and about half a cup of cream but….she was getting there. Then, handing off Doran's cup, dragging one of the large, overstuffed circular pillows right next to him, she sat down, patting down the billowing fabric of her gown as it whooshed up around her. Telen just watched her get the two of them situated, scoffing.

"Don't even need us, eh?" she asked, more of a joke really, but as Ylsa just opened her mouth, looking a bit surprised but….conspicuously NOT rejecting that notion, Telen just laughed louder, honestly amused. "Ohhh….I see how it is!"

"No, no, Telen, I didn't mean to offend you!" Ylsa shook her head, her loose hair bouncing and curling at her shoulders.

"No offence was taken, My Lady," Ellanna replied in her deeper timbre, putting a hand of Telen's shoulder. "We actually had quite a bit left to do on our chores this morning, don't we?"

"Oh!" Brightening up, Ylsa smiled. "I would hate to keep you! I think….I think I have everything handled here, and Areo is never out of shouting distance." Ellanna smiled knowingly, winking at the Western maiden as she guided a smirking Telen out of the shaded enclave, leaving the Prince and his betrothed alone.

"You made quick work of them," Doran teasing, sipping his coffee, as Ylsa pouted up at him in feigned indignance.

"I didn't mean to! But….I don't mind that they've gone." She sipped her own coffee with a slight laugh.

"Oh? Have some nefarious plans for me now that the handmaidens have left? You ARE from the Westernlands, how do I know you're not secretly planning my assassination?" She scoffed, shaking her head, and smiling evilly up at him.

"Or maybe I'm just planning on dumping you, chair and all into that pool over there….after all, that's what you did to me on our first day here."

"It would only be fair." The two of them grinned at one another, while Ylsa stood. "Oh, really going through with it?"

"No," she said thoughtfully, tapping her chin. "I'm not that cruel. But a swim does sound sort of nice, doesn't it?"

"Oh?" Doran was a little caught off guard at that, not expecting her to actually want to get in the water again, not after that whole…. Soldier business. But Ylsa just laughed that clear, crisp laugh that Doran loved, tossing her hair over her shoulder, letting her shawl slip from her shoulders. The way she looked at him made Doran, the Prince of Dorne, feel like a mere mortal in the presence of a living goddess.

"You don't have to," Ylsa said, a bit quieter. "But I feel like having a swim." Doran watched in confusion, that slowly turned to realization, as she slowly stepped towards the edge of the nearby pool.

"I think….I'll just watch you, Lady Ylsa," He said, a smile spreading across his face as she looked back over her shoulder at him, smirking playfully, before letting her dress slip completely off her shoulders, leaving her bare before she stepped into the cool, crystal water of the pool.

* * *

"There you are, My Prince!" Ylsa picked up her skirts and made her way down the open air corridor to where she'd found Doran sitting in his chair, looking out onto the courtyard. She hadn't realized she'd left her room without her shoes again, and she just laughed at her own air headed forgetfulness as she realized she was once again barefoot. She knew Doran was not bothered by that.

Doran did not turn to look at Ylsa, in fact he made no movements at all; he was as still as stone. Ylsa strode a little faster towards him, a sudden sense of vague urgency washing over her. Whatever the cause of this feeling, she just felt that she needed to make it to Doran quicker.

"Doran…?" The closer she got, the more apprehensive she grew, as he was unmoving, unchanging even….even as she called out to him, he did not acknowledge her. What was running through that man's mind, she wondered? "Doran….. my love….?" This seemed to snap him out of his stupor somewhat, but the way he turned his head seemed more like he'd discovered a pesky fly buzzing about his head, not like he was hearing he voice of his betrothed. He looked vaguely in Ylsa's direction as she approached, but his eyes glossed over her, like he did not see her; or rather, like he was seeing through her. "Doran! ….You're scaring me!"

It was only then, as she picked her full skirts up completely in her arms and ran to him, did she see the source of her hurried, anxious feelings; behind where Doran sat, slithering it's way down the wall, was a large, green serpent. It's yellow eyes were unblinking as it transfixed it's deadly gaze on the back of Doran's head. It stopped it's downward slithering halfway down the wall, and lifted it's head, baring it's fangs; it was within striking distance of The Prince.

"DORAN!" She shrieked his name this time, and just as she was sprinting to him, her voice broke into an anguished scream as the serpent reared back, striking across the open space between it and Doran, it's fangs just moments from connecting with the back of his neck-

"NO!" Sitting straight up in bed, Ylsa found herself drenched in sweat as she lay in the sprawl of the moonlight streaming into her room. It was only a nightmare, only a nightmare she told herself, real tears streaking down her face as she shivered and tried to calm herself down. But it wasn't just a dream; she'd had the same dream three nights in a row, and each night, the snake was always closer and closer to striking Doran down each time she awoke.

"Lady Ylsa!?" Ellanna burst into her chambers, a panicked look on her face; she knew her charge had been having restless nightmares as of late, but this was the first night she'd awoken so violently from them, and she was shocked to find Ylsa crying. "Ooh….my child, it's alright! It was only a dream!" Moving to sit on the bed beside her, taking her into her arms and holding her as she cried, the younger woman couldn't stop her heart from beating in her throat.

"No, no, it wasn't!" she sobbed, holding her face in her hands. "It's a sign, it's a dream from the Gods! They're trying to tell me something!"

"The Gods wouldn't be so cruel to such a pure hearted woman," Ellanna assured her, but it did not calm Ylsa.

"Doran is in danger!" she whimpered, before turning from Ellanna's embrace, standing. "I- ….I want to see him!"

"….Now?" The older woman looked outside, at the moon high in the sky. "He's surely asleep, my lady."

"I need to make sure he's alright! I….I feel like I'm only a hair's width away from losing him!" The handmaid had no idea what Ylsa was talking about, but she seemed hysterical and hell-bent on seeing Doran, no matter the time of night. Sighing, Ellanna stood.

"Alright, alright, let's wake him then." As soon as she said this, Ylsa sped past her, bursting through her chamber doors and making her way across the palace to Doran's chambers. Areo caught up with Ellanna as she tried to keep up with the girl.

"Midnight run?" he asked, somewhat mirthfully.

"She's been having terrible dreams, and has convinced herself Doran is in danger; she wants to see him." Shrugging and rolling her eyes just a tiny bit, Areo conceded; it was a tiny bit excessive. But it was also terribly endearing of Ylsa. When she reached the wing Doran slept in, Ylsa shoved the chamber doors open, much to the confusion and detestment of the guards posted outside.

"You can't barge in like that!" one of them said, but Areo held a hand up to silence him as he and Ellanna approached, hanging back to let Ylsa rush in on her own.

"Doran!" Stopping dead just inside the doorway, her heart beating wildly from the adrenaline of her nightmare, she was relieved to see Doran in bed, or rather, sitting straight up in bed, as the surprise visit had woken him up. He was startled, his eyes not yet recognizing Ylsa, looking around him in a panic.

"What!? What is it!" Trying to rise out of bed on his own, all he ended up doing was falling to one side of the bed, half way hanging off onto the floor, pulling all the sheets with him. "Lady Ylsa?" Once his eyes focused on his betrothed, standing there in the doorway (upside down in his view,) cloaked in light lavender gauze and moonlight, he let out the breath he was holding, and with it a short, disbelieving laugh. "You scared me, my Lady! Look at me!" Struggling to right himself, Ylsa rushed over, pulling him back up onto the bed.

"You scared ME, falling off the bed like that!" she replied, looking him over; he was shirtless in bed, so it was easy to see that there were no snake bites anywhere on him; her shoulders relaxed.

"What are you doing here at this hour, Lady Ylsa? Not that I'm not pleased to see you, but…." Doran trailed off as Ylsa was subtly trying to look him over to make sure he was alright. He knew she wasn't here for a mere 'visit' as it were; that wasn't Ylsa's way.

"I …. I had a terrible dream," she admitted, glancing up to make eye contact. "I dreamt that a great green viper was seconds away from killing you, and I couldn't get to you fast enough to stop it!"

"That does sound terrifying." Reaching out, tucking some loose curls of hair behind one of Ylsa's ears, trailing his fingers down the curve of her chin afterwards, tipping her face up to fully look to him. "But I promise you, I'm alright. No bites on me, and none in the foreseeable future either. Us Dornishmen aren't so easy to fell!"

"But…but I feared it was an omen, My Prince," she replied, setting her own hand over his, leaning her face into his touch. "From the Gods. I thought….. I was so afraid when I woke. I'm afraid it might come true!"

"I promise you, Ylsa. No harm is going to come to me; I've made it this long in life!" She smiled a little at that, but was still anxious, and Doran could sense it. "Why don't you sleep here with me this night, so you can have me next to you every time you wake from bad dreams?"

"We're unwed yet," Ylsa quietly reminded him, looking away shyly. "….It's not proper to share a bed until we can…. 'share a bed'."

"I won't tell anyone if you won't," he said, smiling cheekily, but Ylsa still turned her gaze away; as much as she was embracing life here in Dorne, there were still some things she couldn't change. Doran knew this clear as day, and taking one of her hand in both of his, patting it gently. He was going to tell Ylsa that she could come check on him any time of the night if it put her mind at ease, but then something of a crazy idea crossed his mind. An idea he wouldn't have even considered had it been anyone else but Ylsa. " ….We could wed right now."

"What?" There was both confusion and a small bit of curiosity in Ylsa's voice as she looked back to him in surprise at that, and Doran nodded.

"Let's wed, you and I, right now!" He was growing more enthusiastic about this idea with each passing moment. "We'll call the Septon in, he can read us our marriage vows." Turning and motioning towards the soft, bright moonlight coming in from the open windows. "The Gods even have a perfect view of our union from here!"

"But….but you're the Prince! Shouldn't your wedding have more thought and preparation in it!?"

"We can have an unofficial wedding for the sake of the country. But for us….we can be wed right here and now." Smiling at her, lifting her hand to kiss the back of her knuckes gently. "What do you say? Will you wed me here and become my wife tonight? Then you may keep watch over me from this very bed, to alleviate your fears for every night after."

Ylsa had to admit, not only was this a practical solution to her dilemma but an incredibly romantic one at that, the type of romantically impulsive gesture songs were sung about or tales told. And Doran, bless his heart, was so enthusiastic about it! An immediate and thoughtless 'yes' almost poured from Ylsa's lips right there, but she hesitated, the affirmation dying in her throat. Was this really what was best for her? For Doran? An impromptu marriage amid fears of an ill omen? There was an unease in the pit of her stomach, though she didn't know if it was from the idea of such a hasty wedding or the anxiety of leaving Doran alone again. And not even to mention the implications of marriage; Ylsa knew Doran has a viable and capable son already, poised to take the throne, so he was not clamoring for an heir, but, was Ylsa really ready for the inevitable?

This was what gave her greatest pause. Throughout her stay here in Dorne, and specifically the water gardens, Ylsa had been growing more brazen in her expressions of herself; in her thoughts, her opinions, her instinct, her wants and desires, and her fears and anxieties and distastes. She'd grown more comfortable around her peers and around Doran, more sure of her place here in Dorne, and most recently, more comfortable expressing her own budding sexuality, which for a woman from the Westerlands, should have been all but nonexistent. At least, that's what she was always taught. But here with Doran, it seemed so natural of a progression. But now that she was on the precipice of her inexperience, at the doorstep of marriage and of her marriage bed, she wondered if she was ready for the conclusion her growth of self would eventually come to. For some reason, she'd assumed it would take a lot longer to be married, and she'd have more time. Now that the time was here….could she handle it?

Doran watched as Ylsa gave him pause, anxious for her answer. He could see the turmoil behind her eyes, her inner struggle to find an answer; he should have known this wasn't something to be decided on impulse. Coughing to catch her attention again, he smiled.

"My lady, I'm sorry, that was such an improper question to spring on you, you don't-"

"Yes," Ylsa interrupted him, making his words peter off as he looked at her with a puzzled expression.

"…..Uh…"

"Yes, I'll be your wife. Right now." She grabbed his hands, resolve cutting through the confusion in her eyes.

"You will?" The relief was apparent on his face as he let out a sigh, taking both of her hands in his and kissing each one.

"On one condition," Ylsa continued, her face gaining a slight pink tinge, briefly looking away from him.

"Anything," Doran breathed, leaning in slightly closer.

"I….I want to be your wife. I want to do everything a wife does for her husband, but-" Nodding immediately, Doran was fairly certain he knew what she was saying, and he attempted to spare Ylsa from having to spell it out for him.

"Ylsa, I would never expect you to do anything until you want to do it. I want to be with you mind and soul; the 'body' part can come later-"

"Don't interrupt your future wife," Ylsa said cheekily, cheeks still pink but a slight smile gracing her lips. "I wasn't finished. I only meant to say, that you've been married before, and have a child, and I don't. There's a lot I don't know, and I'm not a fast learner."

"I would beg to differ."

"I only wanted to ask that you be a patient teacher with me."

"Of course." Leaning in to kiss her sweetly, wrapping an arm around her waist, before calling to the guards to wake the Septon and fetch him there.

* * *

The Septon was both surprised, and not surprised at all to be woken this late at night to officiate a scandalous midnight wedding. This was Dorne, after all, the country was not known for it's strict adherence to religious edicts. But then again, it was two people who wanted to make official their bond before the gods, so who was the Septon to judge? Even if those people were the Prince and his soon to be Princess.

"You may now, uh…. 'cloak' the bride and bring her under your protection." He said this uncertainly, as there was no cloak to be seen, but as he spoke, Doran plucked one of the embroidered throw blankets from his bed, which they were both still sitting upon, and with a badly concealed grin, he draped it across Ylsa's shoulders. It wasn't a cloak, but it was embroidered with the House Martel sigil, so….it was basically one and the same. "Ahem. My Lord and…..Lady," turning to look at Areo and Elanna, the only two who were present to witness the marriage, "we stand here in the sight of Gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever." Taking the ceremonial cloth ribbon from his sleeve, he approached the giddy couple, and began to wind the cloth around their joined hands. "Let it be known that Doran of House Martel, and Ylsa of House Payne, are now and forever more one flesh, one heart, one soul. Cursed be they who seek to tear them asunder." As he finished tying the knot around their hands, he was a little taken aback by the intensity of their gaze into one another's eyes; the Septon had never really interacted directly with either of these individuals before, but even just seeing them now, even he could see this was no political marriage. "In the sight of the seven, I hereby seal these two souls for the rest of their lives, as one, for eternity. Now, look upon each other and say the words."

"Father, smith, warrior," the both of them began to recite, keeping pace with each other. Ylsa stuttered slightly but it only caused the both of them to breathlessly laugh, which the Septon found refreshingly endearing. "Mother, maiden, Crone, and Stranger…" At this point, they continued reciting in unison, though the words differed slightly.

"I am hers, and she is mine," Doran said softly, as Ylsa said along with him, "I am his, and he is mine." She felt his hand squeeze hers slightly, and she squeezed right back, as they continued. "I am yours, and you are mine, until the end of my days."

"With this kiss, I pledge my love," Doran finished the recitation quietly, kissing Ylsa quite chastely; oh, he would have preferred a more drawn-out affair, but he didn't make it a gratuitous kiss for Ylsa's still lingering sense of embarrassment about such blatant displays of affection in front of others, and after all, Areo and Ellanna were right there. The both of the witnesses present remained silent but smiling as the couple pulled away from the other, exchanging amused glances; of course this was how Doran chose to get married. The look Areo gave to Ellanna was a clear "I knew this would happen" look.

"My work here is done," the Septon said tiredly, closing the holy book he read from, tucking it under his arm. "If you need me, I'll be in my chambers. But please….don't need me." He said this with good humor, if not more than a bit of tiredness, and retired from the room, Ellanna following suit, yawning loudly as she left. Areo winked good naturedly at Doran as he was the last to leave, closing the chamber doors behind him. And finally, Ylsa was alone with Doran.

"So….I'm your wife now," Ylsa finally said, reaching up to touch Doran's cheek.

"And I your husband."

"When I was young, I feared I'd never have a husband," Ylsa said quietly, suppressing a small yawn, though Doran saw it.

"The Gods are good then, aren't they?" Doran replied, scooching over on the bed, holding the covers out for Ylsa to crawl under.

"I don't know about them….. but I know you are." Snuggling under the thin sheets with Doran, right up against his chest, she could finally rest easy knowing she was here with him, and nothing bad would happen to him without her knowing. Letting out tired sigh, her eyes slid shut. And before she driftd off to sleep, she felt Doran kiss her forehead.

"Goodnight, my precious wife."


End file.
